


Someone waits for you to breath again

by cameliae



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Ciri and Jaskier are best friends, Falling In Love, Found Family, Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg are Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parents, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, I mean Yennefer and Geralt are the best parents, Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Light Angst, M/M, No Beta, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and Yennefer is the best mother, but here we have just a lot of fluff and comfort, here is not TOO MUCH constipated i swear, no one gets hurt if not geralt but not even so much, really the angst is almost inexistent, really this is just me that wanted they to be a family!!!, roach here is a car, they travel a lot okay i wanted roach and i wanted a car so, this is not geraskefer but if you want yes there are some hints if you squeeze your eyes enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameliae/pseuds/cameliae
Summary: “How do you have my number?”There's a sound like a tongue clicked against teeth on the other side of the phone, “What do you mean, how? There is nothing I do not know, Geralt.” says Yennefer, with a condescending tone. “What is peculiar in this is not me knowing your number, but why you have a cellphone in the first place.”Geralt sniffs, “It's because Lambert–”“You know, I do not really care.” Yennefer interrupts him, “I need your help.”“Hm, that's new.” Geralt raises his eyebrow. Ciri, on the Roach's passenger seat, clearly hears the surprise in his voice, because her head snaps up from her videogame and curiosity glints in her eyes.“Yes, I know. I am surprised myself. But still, I need your tracking skills: I am searching for a missing person. It might be... difficult to find him, though.”“Why?” he asks, while Ciri leans on him to listen through the phone. Geralt move slightly his phone away from his ear so she can hear easier.“Well, for instance, he was two when he disappeared.”“And?”“And now he's twenty.”Found family, comedy shenanigans, two very good parents™ and Jaskier is just… Jaskier. So obviously Geralt falls in love.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 29
Kudos: 184





	Someone waits for you to breath again

**Author's Note:**

> This is just nothing, really. My guilty pleasure, I daresay. I just wanted all to be a very happy family! Indulge me!  
> As always, sorry for eventual mistakes!  
> Hope you like it! ♥
> 
> (ps: title is from Imaginary - Evanescence. Help me, I'm stuck in my teenager self taste of music)

Geralt is _furious_. He thought that he's hidden it so well these past few days.

“How do you have my number?”

There's a sound like a tongue clicked against teeth on the other side of the phone, “What do you mean, _how_? There is nothing I do not know, Geralt.” says Yennefer, with a condescending tone. “What is peculiar in this is not me knowing your number, but _why_ you have a cellphone in the first place.”

Geralt sniffs, “It's because Lambert–”

“You know, I do not really care.” Yennefer interrupts him, “I need your help.”

“Hm, that's new.” Geralt raises his eyebrow. Ciri, on the Roach's passenger seat, clearly hears the surprise in his voice, because her head snaps up from her videogame and curiosity glints in her eyes.

“Yes, I know. I am surprised myself. But still, I need your tracking skills: I am searching for a missing person. It might be... difficult to find him, though.”

“Why?” he asks, while Ciri leans on him to listen through the phone. Geralt move slightly his phone away from his ear so she can hear easier.

“Well, for instance, he was two when he disappeared.”

“And?”

“And now he's twenty.”

Geralt closes his eyes, in search for patience, and Ciri starts to count with her little fingers out loud until she screams: “It's eighteen years ago!”

“It is!” Yennefer screams herself, having heard Ciri's shout, “You got it right, my child! I am very proud, even though you should have not used your fingers at your age anymore.”

Ciri widens her eyes, looking at him, “How did she know?”

“I have no idea.” Geralt sighs, “Yen, this child– this _boy_ , he's surely dead. He probably didn't even reach his third birthday, much less his _twenty_.”

“I know. That is what I told his cousin, too, but he will not listen to reason. He is a terribly stubborn man, Geralt, surely you have heard of him, Ferrant de Lettenhove?”

“Should I have?”

“Not really, he is not much of an important man, for now. This child, though, he is the last one of the Pankratz line. He is going to be the next ruler of Kerack, once King Belohun dies. His cousin is searching for him for years apparently, right before the tragedy that killed all the child's family eighteen years ago, the same day he disappeared. If I find out he is dead, Ferrant will take his place when the King will die.”

Geralt snorts, “Strange that he wants to find him, even if it means that he'll lose the possibility to become King.”

“He does not seem to care about those frivolities. He just wants to find his little cousin, textual words.”

“Yen.” Geralt says, carefully. “He's surely dead. It's impossible that he survived eighteen years old. He was two.”

“As I already told you, I know. But that is why I need you. You are good in finding remains, right? We just need to find that poor child's bones, and bring them to Ferrant. That would be enough to calm his nerves, at least.”

“If he's able to, seeing the remains of a child. Probably all ashes remains of him.” he says, and Ciri wrinkles her nose in disgust, returning on her seat with a puff.

“I do not care about that. My job ends when he will receive what he asked for.” says Yennefer, and an annoyed smack of lips sound through the phone, “We will meet in Lettenhove in a week's time. You sure you will be on time, with that wreck you so stubbornly call a car?”

“I call her Roach.” he just tell her. There is no reason to start an argument over his adored car, now. “We'll be on time. See you there.”

“Yen!” Ciri shouts again, stealing his phone from his fingers before he hangs up. “Can you tell me the name of the little child? I want to search him on internet.”

“Sure, Cirilla. Oh, Lilit above, he has an awfully long name, almost as awful as yours.” Ciri laughs at that, and Geralt smiles as he always do when he hears her chuckles. “You better write it down, I will not repeat that again,” Geralt is sure that, if Ciri asks, Yennefer will just do it anyway. She has both of them – and his brothers, and Vesemir – wrapped in her little fingers, “His name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.”

“Mine is longer.” muses Ciri, not writing the name down as Yennefer said.

“In fact, I said _almost_. Be more attentive.” Ciri rolls her eyes, “And do not roll you eyes at me, little lady.”

Ciri looks at him again with confused eyes, “How does she _knows_!”

Geralt just shrugs, and turns the key to start Roach. The car rumbles loudly, before setting in.

“I know everything.” laughs Yennefer through the phone, “Say to Geralt to not strain that wreck of a car, I do not want it to explode with you in it. See you in a week, my child.”

It's Yennefer who hangs up, without even waiting Ciri's response. Ciri just shrugs her shoulders, and starts to tap letters on his phone – she's almost twelve, and too lazy to waste her time with numbers and literature, but too eager to play and to use the knives she usually steals from the backseats. Roach is so full of weapons that any other child would have already killed themselves, but not Ciri. Ciri is born already fighting, after all. She's growing with him, a Witcher, and with Yennefer, the scariest sorceress still alive in the Continent. Her best friend is _Lambert_ , for fuck's sake.

Knives are nothing compared to Lambert.

“There are a lot of articles online about this child. You never heard of it before?” she says, throwing away her shoes and tangling her legs under her butt.

“I don't care about politics.”

“But this seems so cool. Wait, if I concentrate enough I can read this one and tell you the important stuff, it doesn't seem to be too long.”

“Hm.”

After ten minutes of silence, where Ciri has read calmly the article, she starts to speak with a monotone voice, “It says that the _Panciaz_ – no, the Pankratz family died the twenty-fourth of December, in their palace in Lettenhove. It says that there was an enormous explosion, not an incident, that killed everyone, including the servitude and the guests! The responsibles of the attack were... uh... never found, but it's common knowledge that the family had a lot of enemies, being the next to raise to the throne, because... because the King has no blood hair? Ah, no, heir. There were no survivors, but the corpse of the male heir of the family, Julian, was never found. People think that probably he escaped before the attack, so he didn't die. His cousin, Ferrant de Lettenhove, says that he was a very agitated child, always moving, and at one year old he already was able to run throughout the palace, so he is surely still alive. Julian was two when the tragedy happened, and he is the younger of four children. Uhm, there are no photos of them, probably all destroyed in the explosion, but in their palace a portrait of them survived. Well, it seems to be the only thing that survived!”

Geralt hums, to let her know that he has listened. Roach rumbles again and he frowns: he needs to refuel as soon as possible. He always forgets to do it until it's almost too late.

“There is a photo of the portrait, wanna see?”

“Sure.” Geralt nods, not because he's curious or anything. He takes a look at the bright screen of the phone just because Ciri asked. As always.

In the middle of the picture, there is a woman seated on a throne, the man behind her has a hand on her shoulder and another holding a little girl's much smaller one. Two other girls, older than the first, are at the right side of their mother. Seated on the lap of the woman, there's a baby boy, no less than a year old, with the most bluish eyes Geralt has ever seen in his life. The painter surely made the full thing exaggerating the details. “Here,” Ciri says, and indicates with a little finger the baby boy, “It's him, I guess.”

“Yes.”

“It's a bit sad, isn't it? Knowing that all of them are dead. They seem pretty happy here.”

“It's a portrait. The painter made them happy.”

Ciri frowns, “Uhm, yeah, probably.”

Geralt stops at the gas station and searches for a bunch of orens in his pockets. Then he catches the faces Ciri are making while scrolling again on the phone, and he guesses that she has seen enough murder scenes for today. He grabs the phone and takes it away from her loose and surprised fingers, “Enough. I need it.” he really doesn't, he never uses it if not for Lambert and to know Ciri's whereabouts when he's not with her. “Do you want to go to Vesemir's?”

“What? Why? It's nothing dangerous!” he cries, affronted.

“Yes, but... if you don't feel like it, Vesemir is always happy to have you, you know.”

She tightens her lips, and lowers her eyes. “I want to come with you. I want to see Yennefer.” she says then, determination in her eyes once she raises them. She is strong, as always. No matter that this whole thing resembles so much what happened to her family, she never shrinks away.

She has a powerful spirit. As Yennefer, after all.

“Fine. But when I tell you to not look, you don't look, am I clear?” he says, and meanwhile he finally finds enough orens to get a full refuel. Hopefully, it will be enough until at least Sodden.

“Why? You mean, when you'll find the bones?” she sniffs, and follows him out of the car when he does to go to pay. “I've seen a lot of bones in my life.”

“Chicken bones don't count.”

“It's unfair! They're still bones!” she pouts, stomping her feet to the ground while she walks.

Geralt shakes his head, “I'll buy you chips.” At least this will quiet her.

Still with a pout, Ciri looks up in wonderment. “Uhm. With barbecue sauce.”

He smiles and ruffles her blond, badly cut – she cut it herself, and she is very proud of it – hair. “With whatever you want. Let's go now, or we'll never arrive in Lettenhove in time.”

She shudders, probably thinking – like him, after all – at Yennefer's reaction if they make her wait for too long. “Nope, nope. We won't be late! We absolutely cannot!”

They arrive in Lettenhove the night before they're due. Geralt rents a room in a inn, because it's late, and Ciri already slept in the car for four days straight, so he just scoops her in her arms and pays the innkeeper, while she snores lightly on his shoulder, without bothering to call Yennefer.

When the morning comes, she is already in front of their door.

“Considering that you finally bought a cellphone, Geralt, next time use it.” says Yennefer as a greeting, entering with her heels ticking against the linoleum of the floor and leaving a trail of gooseberries and lilac behind her.

She immediately spots Ciri on the bed, still asleep, and her face softens.

Geralt closes the door once she is fully entered, “Ciri was tired. We drove from Toussaint. We stopped in a motel just once near Sodden.”

“I am very impressed that that wreck of a car was able to arrive here without exploding. And without taking you forever on the road. Did it at least hit fifty miles per hour?”

“Don't underestimate Roach.”

“I would not dare.” she smirks, unapologetic. Then she gets closer to Ciri and caresses her short, blonde hair with a tenderness that Geralt, even after years, is still so surprised Yennefer has in her. “Did she rest enough?”

“She napped all the way here. She was awake just to beg for more chips.”

“Chips?” Yennefer glares at him, “I sure hope that is not all that she ate.”

“You are the one for healthy food. I'm the cool dad that buys her chips.”

“Incorrigible.” she shakes her head and watches Ciri again as he snores lightly. “She is getting plumper.” she muses, touching softly her cheek, “My little duckling.”

Geralt smiles, then looks out the window. The sun is rising, but people aren't crowding the streets yet. No noises come from the other rooms of the inn. Yennefer probably just got inside as if the inn belongs to her, and no one had the courage to stop her – or better yet, without anyone noticing. “You already know where to start the searching?”

“The palace.” Yennefer answers immediately, still seated on Ciri's bed, “It is where the child was supposed to be. His remains should not be too far from there.”

“You know it will be quite impossible after eighteen years, right?”

She sighs, “Yes. I am about to think that if I bring some lamb bones to Ferrant, he will be happy nonetheless. So, if we find nothing, that is my second plan.”

“Ciri says that we shouldn't eat lambs. They're like babies. Too young and small to kill.”

“She is very wise.”

Yennefer scoops Ciri into her arms without much effort, and Ciri just hides her face in the crook of Yennefer's neck to avoid the sunlight. She's too tall now to still sleep in Yennefer's arms, but this seems to not stop Yennefer nonetheless. “We already go?”

“The sooner, the better.” says Yennefer, “Ciri can still nap in the backseats.”

“Is the palace far away from here?”

“Not even ten minutes by walk. But I know you would not leave your car here.”

“You know right.”

He gathers all his and Ciri's things, put his two swords on his back, and then follows Yennefer out of the room.

On the way to the palace, Ciri awakens and the first person she sees once she raises from the backseats, is Yennefer by her side – Yennefer always seats next to Ciri when they drive all together. She squeals and throws her arms around her, tightening in an embrace that Geralt sees through the rearview mirror. He sees Yennefer rolling her eyes in fond exasperation, but she too puts her arms around the child.

It wasn't so long since the two of them saw each other last, but Ciri always misses Yennefer more than she lets it seem, whenever the sorceress is out on a job for some royal idiot. No one cares if Ciri is with him – and waits for him somewhere safe when the actual hunt begins, at least until she is ready enough to join him on the Path, if she wishes so, but no one asks for the services of a sorceress with a child on tow.

So, Yennefer has to leave Ciri behind. Ciri is never amused by that, but she never complains with her. She complains, though, every time Geralt wishes to leave her to Vesemir or Eskel if the job seems to be too dangerous. She seems to be enough distracted only when Lambert is with her – because his brother has the same mischief glinting in his eyes as she has. They understand each other.

Even if one is a child of twelve years old, the other a terrible Witcher of more than five hundreds.

Geralt parks where Yennefer indicates, and then the three of them are walking through a luxuriant half hidden street, with rose bushes on the side and high sky trees. Ciri is jumping in front of them, watching her surrounding with big, curious green eyes, but she immediately stops when they reach the end of the street.

The palace is no more of a palace than some ruins made of expensive marbles and climbing ivy. “It's going to be _impossible._ ” he sighs, studying some rocks once he gets close enough. They're left to rot, but they're polished too, as if people kept walking on them for years.

“You're always so negative! Wow it's full of murals inside.” cries Ciri, as she enters inside the palace through a broken window.

“Cirilla, there is the door right there!” Yennefer exclaims, while she, indeed, reaches Ciri walking through a doorway that lacks of said door.

Geralt leans on the broken windowsill, watching Ciri and Yennefer walking though the ruins from outside the palace. Ciri is excited, and every time she finds some shiny thing she hides it inside her pockets; Yennefer, though, is taking this job quite seriously, even if exasperated: she is looking down on the ground, with furrowed brows, and sometimes she kneels to swipe some soil off a thing that catches her eyes. She never seems to be satisfied, once she stands up again.

“I told you. Here the underground is probably full of ashes and animal skeletons, we will never find the child's one.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, “And what are you doing? I asked for your help, not for your useless considerations.”

“You know what I think?” says Geralt, jumping through the window and reaching Yennefer, “I think that that child was _disintegrated_ by the explosion, so much that nothing remained of him. That's why no one found his body, and that's why we will never find anything.”

Ciri grimaces, “He was so small. It's probable.”

Geralt looks at Yennefer with a proud expression, because he has resolved the mystery without much of an effort. Not that it was so difficult, little things can happen to a two years old child in eighteen years, alone after an attack.

Death. Just death, really. Hopefully not even a too painful one, or instead of bones, they would find a wraith–alike.

Yennefer glares at him with half lidded eyes, the violet of her irises glinting menacingly. “I still did not ask for your opinion, Geralt. Just do what you are supposed to do.” she commands, returning to her search in the ground.

Ciri and he looks at each other, then Ciri shrugs and jumps around again, stealing whatever she finds. He sighs instead, and decides to not go against Yennefer, even if he thinks that this whole thing is just a waste of time, so he enhances his senses and follows the almost invisible – even for him – blood traces. There are a lot of trails, it seems: after all, a lot of people died here that day, so in every angle of that enormous entry he finds proofs of that tragedy, of a person that there, near the broken window, lost their life caught up by the flames, or by the force of the explosion.

It's confusing.

“Ciri, have you read where in the palace the family died?” he asks, because like this he'll narrow down the search field.

“Yes, uh, I think in a living hall? How do you know which of the rooms up there is a living hall?” she frowns, indicating with a finger upstairs.

“I guess there are still some trinkets left, if you didn't steal them all.” he winks at her, starting to walk up the unsteady stairs. At his passage, a pebble or two falls down until it stops almost near Yennefer's feet.

“Oh, now I remember! It's where the painting was! Or still is?” Ciri informs him, following him way too careless. He is starting to say to her that she needs to walk near the wall and not near the ruined stairs, but a soft melody reaches his ears – a melody? There is someone here?

Someone is playing an instrument here, in an abandoned palace, at probably... no less than six in the morning, maybe seven, Geralt thinks, looking at the rays of the sun. Still too early, though. “Do you hear it?” he asks Ciri.

Her ears perks up, then she frowns, “What? I hear noth– oh, wait.”

Ciri sprints and in a second she's upstairs, “Ciri, wait!” he growls, following her quickening his steps. Shit, she never learn. He doesn't think it's nothing dangerous because his medallion doesn't shiver, it can be a radio left on by someone for all he knows, but still, she has to stop jumping into the unknown like this.

A bunch of seconds after his scream to Ciri, the music stops, but it is immediately followed by the scraping of foot against the marbles floor, and once Geralt is closer enough, he can clearly hear someone swearing out loud.

He grabs Ciri by the collar before she can enter inside the room where the music – and the swearing – came from. He hushes her and, without loosening his grip on her clothes, he gets inside the room and immediately spots a young man with a lute on hand that's trying so hard to climb off a window to escape. Geralt rolls his eyes. Oh yes, he bets that this place is a destination for teenagers, considering the murals and the totally walked on rocks all around the palace.

“Hey, wait!” Ciri shouts, and she wiggles free from his grab. He doesn't do anything to stop her this time: after all he's just a defenseless boy. Ciri is totally capable of defending herself against humans.

The boy freezes. He turns slightly to look at Ciri running towards him, and seeing as she is only a child, the fear in his face drastically dims. “Oh, hi!” he waves the hand that he's not using for his lute, and stops trying to escape. He actually seems quite confused, Geralt guesses, while he gets farther from the window and closer to them.

When he notices Geralt, though, he freezes again. Then he blinks and looks at him almost in awe. His eyes are so very blue, and they ring a bell in Geralt's mind. He brushes it off, though. “Whoa.” the boy mumbles, still eyeing him, “You're a Witcher.”

“Hm.”

“I guess that's a yes. Oh, and you are, little one?” he asks Ciri, crouching until he's at her height. He's quite tall, almost as Geralt, but he seems a bit under weight. His clothes – very bright and colorful clothes – seems to be at least one size larger than they should.

“I'm Ciri! And here's Geralt. There is also a woman with us, and she's Yennefer. Beware of her!”

The boy's eyebrows knits together, “Oh. Okay?”

“What are you doing here?” asks Geralt, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Oh, uh, well, nothing particular. At this time of the morning, all the couples that come here during the night to have sex – don't ask me why they come here, I very much prefer to make love into a comfortable bed, and not where there's a risk to have pebbles up my... uh...” he trails off, his eyes briefly on Ciri, “Anyway, the couples go home at this time of the morning, so I come here to practicing!” he raises his hand wrapped around the lute, “I am a musician. Call me Jaskier, at your services!” and he bows dramatically.

Ciri giggles.

When he stands straight again, Geralt notices right behind the boy a painting – the painting Ciri was talking about. He remember it from a week ago, she did show it to him on internet: he remembers the woman on the middle, the man behind her, the three girls.

The baby with the bluest eyes he has ever seen.

A week ago, he though that the painter exaggerated with the bright color. Now, looking at the boy that eyes at him curiously – he's still chatting with Ciri, but he's not paying attention on what they're saying – that is right before the painting, right beside the picture of the baby, he may be wrong.

“What did you say your name was?” asks Geralt, interrupting the boy and Ciri.

“Uh, Jaskier.”

“And it's your real name? It seems fake.”

“Well, as far as I know yes, it's my real name. What's wrong with my name?”

“It's an unused name. It's clearly fake.”

Jaskier gasps dramatically, and his clean face starts to make the weirdest expression. Ciri bursts out laughing while looking at him, “I _choose_ this name for myself, and I think it's _perfect_ , thank you very much.”

“ _Choose_? So, it's fake.”

“And... and you're _rude_! Thank the Gods that there's a child here, Witcher, or I would have said a much worst definition for your rudeness!”

And he still hasn't meet Yennefer. Talking about the devil, he suddenly hears the ticking of her heels against the marble floor before she even enters into the room where they are – where Ciri is still laughing and Jaskier is still gasping. “There you are. What are you doing? Geralt, have you find something or you are still fucking around?”

“I think I found something.” he just says.

When Yennefer reaches them, she raises an eyebrow at the sight of Jaskier. Then, she seems to have arrived at the same conclusion as him the second her violet eyes lay on the portrait behind Jaskier, and then on Jaskier again. “Oh. It seems Ferrant was right, after all.”

“I'm saying that this guy you keep mentioning, Ferrant, is completely wrong. How the fuck a two years old baby could survive an attack?!”

Geralt hums, because he totally agrees with Jaskier. Still, the similarities are almost embarrassing. Yennefer probably is thinking the same, as she looks at Jaskier up and down with a raised eyebrow. She walks around him and studies his brown, wavy hair; his baby face; his cornflower blue eyes closer. Her red painted lips are tight in contemplation.

“He's convinced that his little cousin survived, in some fucked up way.” she says, with a finger tapping her chin. “You are so similar to him. I think this is not a coincidence.”

“It totally is, my dear lady.” Jaskier exclaims, turning to see the painting behind him. He indicates the baby and hits it with a lean finger. A musician's finger. “He's _ugly_. I was way too cute when I was a child. It's impossible, literally impossible that this,” he taps against it vehemently, “Is me. See this nose? This kind of shape on a child's face means that it will become a nose _waaaay_ too large on an older one. My nose is not large. And, see the lips? The lips are thin. My lips are very plump and very soft, I have a lot of testimonies on my behalf.”

“The eyes are the same. Same shape, same color.” Geralt says.

“It's a painting. You shouldn't trust the colors of a painting!”

“Yet, they are perfectly the same. It seems that the painter made an effort to do them so...” he looks at the child's eyes, then Jaskier's. Jaskier's are glaring at him, shining indignant with a blue so strange that if he doesn't know better, he would think that he's not fully human.

His medallion rests immobile against his chest, so he must be.

“So?” Jaskier prompts.

“Bright.” Geralt blurts out, “And peculiar.”

“Oh? I have bright eyes, then?” he asks rhetorically, with a smirk. “Anyway, they're not so peculiar: I know at least three other people that have the same eye color as mine.”

“Perfectly the same? I doubt it.” says Yennefer, “Not from Lettenhove, at least. Apart for maybe Ferrant.”

Jaskier widens said eyes, “Ah, see? I'm not from here! I was not born in Lettenhove, actually. And as far as I know, the heir of the Pankratz family is born here, tell me if I'm wrong?”

“And pray tell, where are you from?” Yennefer asks, and Geralt can hear in her voice her patience wearing thin. Ciri, next to him, shudders.

“Oxenfurt.”

“Oxenfurt.” repeats Yennefer.

“Did I stutter? Yes, Oxenfurt. I'm from there.” Jaskier shrugs, then he sighs and walks away from the painting, “If you ask for my humble opinion, no two years old child would have been able to run away from an _attack_ made to completely pulverize all his family, all alone I might add, and arrive safe and sound to Oxenfurt. You know where Oxenfurt is? Is at least a two days road from here. By foot, it's like half a month. By foot of a little two years old, it's probably, uh, _never_? Never. Because it's impossible.”

“And why are you here in Lettenhove?” asks Ciri, following him as he takes his way towards the stairs and the exit.

“To perform.”

Ciri huffs, “I mean, not here _here_.”

Jaskier chuckles, “I didn't mean here _here_ either. I'm here in Lettenhove to perform, I am a musician. I'm here it's... probably a month? A month and a half? Well, anyway, here is the best place to compose. It has a haunting vibe, you know what I mean? It helps the inspirational muse to find her way into my fingers and voice, and then it's all matter of talents, Ciri. And thankfully, I have _plenty_ of talent.”

“Talks like a royal, though. Could have fooled me.” murmurs Yennefer, disappointed.

“More like a buffoon.” adds Geralt, not caring to lower his voice.

Jaskier gasps again, turning to glare at him, “I heard you, Witcher!” he snaps, “Rude, _rude_!”

Geralt huffs a laugh, and Yennefer looks at him in utter bewilderment. “What was that?”

“What?”

“You _laughed._ ”

Geralt doesn't respond to that. It's just that this boy – Jaskier – is so ridiculous. He was laughing at him, that's it. She shouldn't read too much in that. “Hm.”

They arrive outside of the palace in silence. Only Ciri and Jaskier, in front of them, chatter about something that Geralt isn't paying attention to. Suddenly, Jaskier turns to look at them after hearing something that Ciri said and that Geralt didn't catch. He eyes them in contemplation, “Uh, Ciri said that you arrived here yesterday night, and considering that you didn't find anything here apart me – and, sadly for you, I'm not what you are searching for – I was thinking... Do you have a place to stay? If not, I don't mind to have you in my apartment until you are rested enough. It might be small, but I am sure that I can find some... angle... for you all!”

Yennefer blinks at him, “You have no self preservation, boy. You should not invite strangers into your home.”

“Ciri is not a stranger anymore.” he says.

“We're friends!” Ciri adds, enthusiastically.

Yennefer shakes her head and says, “No, actually we have a room in an motel.” at the same Geralt says, “Sure, why not.”

And he doesn't even fucking know _why_.

Yennefer looks at him again with the same bewilderment of before. “Excuse me, Geralt?”

Shit. What can he say, now? He doesn't know why he said yes to his invite. Ciri seems to be happy now, she seems to like Jaskier quite enough. She never has much time to befriend and talk with someone that's not Geralt's family or Yennefer. Sometime Triss, too. She doesn't go to school for obvious reason, Vesemir is the one that's losing hours and hours behind her studies. She doesn't go play with children of her age, because she doesn't have the time, or the way, being always on the road with Geralt. Jaskier is probably the first friend she's making after the attack at _her_ family.

Plus, Jaskier has really beautiful eyes. Beside liking Ciri, that seems to be a good enough reason.

“He's the only trail we have.” he finds himself say. “I've seen no traces of a child's bones, we just find... _him._ ” Geralt indicates Jaskier, who bristles, “That seems to be the one we're searching for. We might find something, staying with him.”

He doesn't convince even himself.

“He is not born here, Geralt.”

“The Pankratz child was two when disappeared. He surely doesn't remember if someone brought him to Oxenfurt, for safety maybe.”

“It seems unlikely. The Pankratz family did not know of the attack beforehand! And this boy surely has parents that may take offense at your insinuations.”

“This we probably need to find out. He has the answers.”

“Do they know that I am still here and I'm listening _everything_ they're saying?” Jaskier asks Ciri, leaning sightly to her.

Ciri nods, “They always do that. With me, too.”

“Nice. Listen, guys, I have literally no answers, I assure you. Buy you're very welcome to stay in my house as much as you like. Well, not forever, mind you, my apartment isn't really made for four people, but anyway! It's okay for a while!”

Ciri is looking at him with pleadingly eyes. Yennefer is looking at him with an annoyed glance and her arms crossed under her breasts – she isn't complaining, though.

And Jaskier, Jaskier is also looking at him, with curiosity in his blue eyes, and a soft smile. It's in this moment that Geralt notices that Jaskier never smelled afraid around him. He's smiling at him, at Geralt. Apart from Ciri, and sometimes Yennefer when she's in a good mood, no one ever smiles at him.

“Get in the car. All the three of you.” he says, and Yennefer sighs while Ciri hoorays, “Jaskier, lead the way.”

Yennefer sits in the backseats with Ciri, as always, leaving Jaskier to sit in the passenger seat next to him. Geralt inserts the key and starts Roach, while Jaskier, with a faint blush on both his cheeks, joins him. He indicates where Geralt has to go to reach his home, then he turns to look at Ciri behind him and starts chatting with her again.

This, during the whole way. Thankfully, it's a very brief travel.

After Geralt parks in front of some shitty apartments, Jaskier gets out of Roach and says, “Whoa, this car has a lot of knives and... b–bombs... in it.” while he opens the door for Ciri with a bow, and takes a peak where she was seated on.

“Just Geralt can set off this kind of bombs, so don't worry Jaskier!”

“I don't.” he mumbles, gazing at Geralt. “That's cool, actually.” he says, dazedly, “I mean, don't touch them, it's perilous. What did we learn today? We learned that explosions kill everyone. No survivors.”

“Apart from you.”

“Thanking the Gods above, I've never been a survivor of anything explosive. Uh, now that I think about this, maybe now I am? This car has every reason to explode at any moment, I feel myself to be quite fortunate.”

Yennefer snorts, “That is what I am saying for ages.”

“And it seems you accomplished nothing.” retorts Jaskier, with a smirk.

Yennefer raises both her eyebrows. And Geralt too is surprised for that retort, said to _Yennefer_ of all, that he almost feels admiration towards that baby face. Almost. Jaskier probably still ignores the danger he's getting into, talking with that clever tone to none other than Yennefer.

In fact, Yennefer gets closer to Jaskier, while he is searching for something inside his pockets – probably the keys to his apartment. When he finally sees her approaching, Jaskier's smirk wavers. “ _Oh_ , and you accomplished _everything_ in life as far as I see, right, musician? Quite the... _mansion_ is where you live in.”

“At least I _earned_ it with my own very strength.”

“You did it very well. That rat running near the wall could have fooled me, though.”

“Well,” Jaskier pursues his lips, “It means that I'm _no royal_. Should I call _you_ Your Majesty?”

“You should, yes.”

“Good, because I didn't bother to learn your name, so I forgot.” Jaskier says, in the end, after struggling for a few seconds. He finally finds what he is searching for – indeed the keys – and opens the entrance door, that creeks sinisterly.

Ciri follows him through the flight of stairs, and Geralt, with Yennefer on tow, does the same thing. Yennefer, though, has an amused smile on her red lips, and a mischievous glint in her violet eyes, “I quite like him.”

Geralt has no doubts. First Ciri, now Yennefer: Jaskier seems to be the type of person that or you hate or you love him. For now, half the people Geralt knows love him, somehow, not even an hour later after encountering him. It must be something in his eyes, surely.

Jaskier stops in front of a door when they reach the last floor. When they enter, what Geralt sees in his apartment is that it belongs to Jaskier without any doubts: it's like a bomb exploded and threw up in the air everything, and then everything just fell casually on the floor, on the kitchen table, on the couch, even on the old – old for at least twenty years, maybe more – television there are... _things_. Chaos reigns here. It represents perfectly the way Jaskier is, the little Geralt has learned until know at least.

“Yes, right. Uh,” Jaskier blabs, and with his foot he tries to hide some paper sheets under the sofa, “I forgot that I didn't clean the place in... well, I never cleaned the place before. I was about to do it, though! And now I have a good enough reason to start it now. Uhm, my bedroom is cleaner, I swear to the Gods, so, yes, Ciri and Her Majesty can sleep there, the bed is large enough for two! And... and... yes, Geralt can sleep on the couch, there is no problem in that. It is quite soft, believe me!”

“And where will _you_ sleep?” asks Ciri, frowning.

“Uh.” Jaskier blinks, and looks around, “On the floor, I think? The... the newspapers can make it more comfortable, I'm sure of it.” The silence that follows makes Jaskier shifting on his feet, “I have a tub. I can also sleep there. I slept in much worse places!”

“This is ridiculous,” blurts out Yennefer, and with a flicks of her magic – Jaskier jumps at that – she opens a portal, “I am going to sleep in the motel.”

“Of fucking course she's a motherfucking sorceress!” hisses Jaskier, watching with wide and brightening eyes the portal opened in the middle of his living room. Or is it his kitchen? More likely both.

“No, please, Yen!” Ciri catches a hem of her black dress, tightening her fingers in it so Yennefer cannot jump into the portal. “Stay with us!”

Yennefer narrows her eyes, then she raises them to the sky. “The things I do for love.” she says, sighing dramatically. She flicks her hand again and the portal disappeared the same way as it appeared before.

Then, Jaskier claps his hands, “So, a little help?” he says, and with a grand gestures he indicates the chaos around him.

Yennefer swears. Ciri hoorays again.

Geralt, not knowing why, just cocks his head to see better whatever is shining inside Jaskier's eyes.

Somehow, they settle in for a while.

He doesn't know why they didn't get inside Roach the following day and get on with their life: Geralt gives the blame to the fact that they're still searching for the Pankratz child's bones, or whereabouts if he's still alive, Yennefer and he still go around the palace in search for proofs even as the days pass without news. Ciri just wants to stay with Jaskier, because Jaskier is funny, he's easygoing as no one she knows – not even Lambert is like him, textual words – and also, sometimes he brings her with him to his concerts – that are just some jigs into some pubs during the evenings – and she's having so much fun with him.

Geralt's never seen her so carefree. Happy, yes – thankfully, she's content with her life, even with the restraints, even with the memories of her lost family. But Geralt's never seen her chatting this much; eating things that aren't just chips because she's too distracted to notice that there's fruits and vegetables into her plate; singing alongside another person.

It's a delight seeing her like this.

And Yennefer, well. Probably Yennefer thinks the same as him, while she watches the happiness radiating from Ciri. Also, she probably will never admit it, but she's grown fond of Jaskier and their daily bickering – they're foulmouthed the same way, after all.

So, they stayed.

Geralt, meanwhile, had the opportunity to appreciate something in Jaskier apart from his eyes.

He's caring – especially with Ciri; he is with him too, letting him sleep on the couch even though Geralt can simply meditates, ending up sleeping together each on one end of the couch; he is with Yennefer too, even if he tries to deny it every time she, with a smirk, points that out.

He never, _never_ smells afraid of Geralt. He's scared of Yennefer, though, but Geralt thinks that after a while he fakes fear just to let Ciri laugh. His scent is more strong during the nights, when he is deeply sleeping: he smells like chamomile, and sun, and endless meadow. Geralt likes his scent, even during the mornings when he wakes up disoriented and he sees Geralt near him, and it's half hidden under the mist of arousal.

He has a baby face, but it's a pleasant baby face. The bow of his lips is cute. The tip of his nose is slightly pointing up. He's actually quite a good singer, and a even better lute player – Geralt doesn't see a lute player it's probably been three, maybe two centuries ago.

He talks a lot, but he's also a good listener. With Ciri, most of the time.

But as he has already said before, they cannot stay there forever. Yennefer and he don't find anything useful, not with exploring every angle of the palace and surroundings, not with questioning the residents of Lettenhove. No answers, anywhere.

So, they need to go.

Geralt tells Jaskier that the night before they part – he already agreed with Yennefer about the timing and the next place they need to go. Jaskier is seated on the couch, zapping distractedly on the television, with a heavy blanket around him even if it's not so cold outside and a ridiculous canary–yellow pajama. Ciri and Yennefer are already inside his room – they agreed that it will be Yennefer to break the news to her.

Jaskier jolts when he hears his voice, and almost drops the remote controller. “W–What?”

“We have found nothing about Julian Pankratz. We should go investigate somewhere else.”

“Ah.” says Jaskier, lowering his eyes, “Makes sense.” he adds.

“We stayed too much.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Ciri won't be happy, you're good with her.”

“Thanks.” Jaskier starts again zapping on the television. He seems more distracted than before, if possible.

“I may... I may bring her here sometime. In the future.”

“I would be happy if you do.”

Now there's a pout on his lips.

Geralt sighs, “What is it?”

Jaskier opens his mouth, probably to say some other monosyllabic, out of character affirmations, but then he thinks better of that. He looks like he's making order inside his mind, before, after a minute or so, he answers: “I was thinking... that I could come with you! You know, Ciri always talks a lot about you and your exciting adventures, so I'm feeling inspired and I'm writing some songs about your heroics, and I think that if I follow you during your jobs I might get _even more_ inspired! I can be, uh, your bard, yes, surely when you were younger, like fifty hundreds years ago when bards where still a thing, you had a bard to sing your praises!”

“I did not. Had a bard.” Geralt says, blinking. And utterly confused by the flow of words escaped from those lips, “And it's dangerous, you cannot come with _me_.” Then, he bristles, “And I'm not so old, for fuck's sake!”

“Oh, come on, Geralt. You take Ciri on hunts with you!”

“Ciri is more capable to survive than you.”

“Yes, well, you may be right. But,” he clears his throat, “But... but... uh, I just... It's just that I'm not good being alone. I hate feeling loneliness.”

“You were alone before.” Geralt points out the obvious.

“Yes, I've been alone for two years almost, since I was kicked out the orphanage, but, uh, I know that it's been just two weeks, I _know_ , but you, Ciri and Her Majesty are the only thing close to a family I ever had. So, I just still want to be with you. I mean, _all_ of you. Hell, I'll miss Her Majesty, I cannot abide to be separated from her for too long.”

Geralt raises a hand and Jaskier immediately shuts his mouth with a loud clink. “Repeat what you just said.”

“Uh, that I'll miss Her Majesty?”

“No, before that.”

“That... that I want to be with you?” he blushes saying that. He's adorable, but Geralt doesn't acknowledge that, not right now.

“No, _before that_.”

“What? What? That I was completely alone for two years? That I was kicked out the orphanage? That–”

“ _Orphanage_?”

Jaskier seems to shrinks at that, covering himself more in the blanket and resembling more and more a cocoon. “Yeah. I, I lived in an orphanage since eighteen. What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, it's nothing wrong. But didn't you think that you should have told us?”

Jaskier frowns, “Why? I don't see why it's so important, and I don't like talking about that.”

“I really think that it would have been important if you just have said it.” growls Geralt, and Jaskier gasps, not in fear but more in outrage, “You know, with the whole thing that we thought _you_ could have been Julian Pankratz if only you weren't born in another city by another family?”

The frown on Jaskier's forehead deepens, “Uh, I haven't thought about that.” He waits for Geralt to grunts, before adding: “It seems still very improbable that a two years old walked all alone through the Continent and reached an orphanage in Oxenfurt.”

“But now we just have to talk with the rector for that. How old were you when you were brought there?”

“Uhm...” Jaskier winces, and then throws him a pleadingly gaze, as if begging to not get angry, “Uh, two?”

“Two.” Geralt sighs, exasperated. “ _Two_.”

Jaskier shrugs, “That's what the rectress said, at least.”

“For fuck's sake. I need to talk to Yen.” he grunts, and starts to get up from the couch.

“No, wait.” Jaskier stretches out a hand to stop him. He doesn't touch him, though. “Tomorrow? We can talk about this tomorrow. She's probably asleep by now.” When Geralt, with a final sigh, returns on the couch near him, Jaskier smiles. “Does that mean I shall come with you when you leave tomorrow?”

Geralt closes his eyes, while Jaskier laughs. He seems to be happy, now. Geralt likes the sounds he makes when he tries not to laugh too loudly.

“I'm too fucking old for this.”

The next morning, they get inside Roach and start to travel toward Oxenfurt. This time, Yennefer trusts Jaskier enough to let him stay in the backseats with Ciri while she settles on the passenger seat next to a grunting Geralt.

She doesn't seem impressed when she sees Jaskier ready to leave with them. She's even less impressed when Jaskier and he try to explain to her what they – what _Geralt –_ discovered the night before. In return, Ciri seems really surprised.

“So, you are an orphan too?” she asks him when Geralt finally starts Roach and they take the road to Oxenfurt.

From the rearview mirror, Geralt sees Jaskier trying so hard to avoid getting stabbed by a loose knife. In the end, he seems to settle with his knees against his chest and a temple against the car window, “Yes. Wait, _too_?”

“I lost my parents when I was just a baby, then my grandparents got killed in an attack when I was eight. So, technically I am an orphan, too.”

“Oh, I, I thought that Geralt and Her Majesty were your... parents...?”

“Not technically.” Ciri giggles, “I am Geralt's Child Surprise.”

“It's a long story.” Geralt says, seeing those blue eyes glinting with curiosity.

Jaskier pouts, “I want to know!”

“All you have to know, musician, is that _I_ am Ciri's mother in all but blood.” exclaims Yennefer, turning slightly her head towards Ciri and smiling fondly. “And that is more than enough. We are still family even without blood relations. Even without a relationship, for that matter.”

“Wait. So, you two are... aren't together?” Jaskier voice seems to have a hint of hope. Hm.

“Oh, Lilit, no. I am more that he deserves. We tried, yes–”

“And we failed.” adds Geralt, but even though, he smiles at Yennefer, who reciprocates.

Jaskier perks up, “Oh, great!” then, he coughs, “I mean, _pity_. You would have made a beautiful couple.”

“Do not lie, musician.” then, Yennefer glances at Geralt, with mischief in her violet eyes. “The sex is still great, though.”

Strange that she says that: they stopped having sex the moment Ciri came into their life.

Jaskier splutters, and his cheeks reddens, “Oh, Gods, there's a _child_ in here!” he shrieks, covering Ciri's ears with the palms of his hands, while she laughs so much that she almost chokes on her spit. “Oh, Gods, now I literally cannot think of anything else.” he murmurs almost imperceptibly. Not for Geralt's ears, though.

Yennefer wiggles her eyebrows at him. He keeps driving, though: he doesn't understand what she means and wants most of the time however, so it's not so strange that even now he can't.

It isn't a long way to Oxenfurt from Lettenhove, no more than two days road. They need to cross the western part of Temeria, then they have to cross a small canal – they probably have to wait for a ferry to do that, and grudgingly leave Roach behind.

He hates leaving Roach behind.

“We will stop at Velen for the night.” he says.

Yennefer shrugs, as if she doesn't care. Ciri is already napping – she always falls asleep while in Roach. Jaskier raises a thumbs, but from the rearview mirror, Geralt can see his lids dropping slightly too.

He can already guess that in an hour or two, he'll be driving completely alone.

But Jaskier doesn't fall asleep, contrary to what he has thought. For the better part of the drive, he hummed lightly, and complained a bit because there isn't a radio on the car. Once he begged to stop so he could take his lute from the car trunk, but just a glare from Yennefer was enough to made him desist immediately.

When Yennefer too starts to nap, Jaskier starts to sing instead. He sings so softly that even she doesn't wake up. She stirs just once, and nothing else. It's good, Geralt likes it. Jaskier's voice keeps him company. Geralt doesn't complain even when he feels Jaskier's knees pushing against his seat, feeling them against his back.

But he understands immediately when something is wrong. It's when Jaskier stays silent for more than a few minutes. Also, Geralt can clearly hears his heartbeat starting to drum loudly in his chest. “What's wrong?”

“Eh? Ah, no. Uh, no, I though I saw...” he trails off, then he gulps, “I think I forgot to tell you another thing.”

Geralt sighs, “What thing?”

“Uh. I might be cursed?”

Suddenly, Geralt loses the control he has over Roach, and the car slits through the road. He, thankfully, is able to let Roach stop at the edge of the road, with smoke all around them and a terrible smell of burnt rubber.

Ciri wakes with a jolts, and looks around frenetically. Yennefer does much the same, even if with more composure. She gets out of the car like him and they both see that the front tires of Roach are punctured. Shit.

“I'm sorry!” screams Jaskier, opening Roach's door but not getting out. For the first time, he almost smells afraid. He starts to fidget with the hem of his colorful satin chemise, “It, it's the curse, I'm so sorry. It's been a while since something happened, so I kinda forgot, I'm so _sorry_.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” shrieks Yennefer, enraged.

But they don't have time to explanations, now. Geralt reaches for his swords and takes the silver one, then marches towards the fucking _swarm_ of whatever the fuck those birdy things are that are descending on them like missiles, diving with such power that the air around them is hissing.

He closes the door of Jaskier's seat, closing him and Ciri inside Roach. “Don't move.” he orders, “Ciri, watch him. He's bringing enough trouble even without doing nothing.”

Ciri, with determination in her green eyes, stops Jaskier, that gasps at that and looks at him, enraged, “The curse is _mine_ , Geralt, you can't leave me here! Don't you dare! _Don't you fucking dare_!”

His eyes are burning, they shine with a fire that he has never seen before. He's scared, so scared, but even so, he's brave. And a fighter. And, fuck, all Geralt can think, now, is that he's beautiful.

He'll never allow something to happen to him.

Geralt walks farther from them – he still hears Jaskier bumping against the car door and fighting against Ciri's grip – and joins Yennefer, magic already sparkling in her hands. But when the bird–like things reach them, they completely avoid Yennefer and him, as if they were invisible.

They go straight to Roach. They start to hit vehemently against the window of Jaskier's seat.

“I told you that they want _me_!” Geralt hears Jaskier screams from inside Roach.

“Fuck.” he swears.

Yennefer groans, “I cannot use my magic or that car will finally explode. For sure this time.”

“ _Fuck_.” he growls, this time, and tries to cast an _aard_ , to at least get them away from the window, that will surely break in any moment now. “Now? Far enough?”

“Another bit. I will try to fucking light them up!” she tells him, and red flames start to lick her hands and fingers.

He casts another _aard_ , and when Yennefer decides that they are as far from the car as she thinks is enough, she throws two balls of fire towards the swarm. But the fire does nothing. The bird–like things return as if nothing happened to hit against the window car.

“They are made out of magic. That is why magic has no effect. Fuck.” Yennefer stomps a feet on the ground in annoyance. “What now?”

“Grab a silver dagger from Roach. We will get rid of them even if this means to slash them one by one.”

“Well, this will be exciting.”

Suddenly, Ciri calls from him, from her car window – that, thankfully, the bird thingy are leaving alone, “Geralt!” she screams, “Can you take them farther away?”

“Just for a moment! I can't stop them!” he growls in response.

She enters again into the car, and Geralt can't catch what she is whispering to Jaskier. Then, her head pops out again from the window. “It will be fine!”

Then, Jaskier joins her. He has a grin on his face, as he gets almost completely out from the car through the window. “Be ready to set off the bomb!”

Geralt throws another _aard_ at the bird thingy, “ _Set off what_?”

Jaskier isn't looking at him anymore, though. He just raises a hand, closed around a familiar oval shape object that Roach is full of them, and looks at the magical birds. Now, that smirk is addressed to them.

Then, he throws the bomb.

And Geralt casts an _igni_ the moment the bomb is in the middle of the swarm.

It explodes. None of the magical birds survive.

Ciri and Jaskier get out of Roach to have a better look at their work. Their eyes follows as the remains – paper–like – falls from the sky. “Wow. Looks like black snow.” murmurs Ciri.

“See, Geralt? I survived for at least twenty years before I met you. You don't need to shut me somewhere _safe_. Better that you'll remember it next time, because I may not have the same skills as a Witcher or as a sorceress – or, or as Ciri, that is – but I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubts.” Geralt whispers, and he cannot watch himself, but he feels as if he's staring at Jaskier in a daze. It's admiration, probably. It's interest, more likely, even though he was interested in him since almost the beginning, with those eyes and those lips and his colorful clothes and his sunny _everything_.

Hm.

“Good! Now, shall we go?” Jaskier says, indicating Roach with a flourishing gesture. “Then I'll answer all your questions, cross on the heart.”

Yennefer sighs, “I will fix the tires.”

“Oh, Her Majesty, how magnanimous of you!”

Ciri laughs, and Geralt – Geralt cannot seem to take his eyes off Jaskier.

Geralt preferred to stay on guard for the rest of the way to Vizima, so they didn't talk about this fathomable curse on Jaskier. They kept travelling in silence, not even Jaskier is singing anymore. Yennefer doesn't fall asleep again, Ciri does but she wakes at the minimum sound.

Guilt creeps out of Jaskier, but he doesn't try to soothe her with his voice.

They find themselves talking about the whole thing only when they rent a room – just one, Geralt already decides to leave the two beds to Yennefer and Ciri while he meditates, to be on guard of whatever might attack; Jaskier says, instead, that he doesn't mind to sleep on the uncomfortable armchair – in a motel when they reach Vizima, right before midnight.

They eat whatever Yennefer finds while talking with the innkeeper, and it's just some bread with ham and cheese, plus a bottle of red wine and a smaller one of water for Ciri, but it's enough.

“I don't know when it started.” starts to tell them Jaskier, while he moves his hand holding a piece of bread around. “For what I remember, I was always cursed. I have memories of myself as a, as a little child and one of them is when I was in my orphanage and all the children had to prepare a song to perform in front of people that might or not might have been there to adopt us? I don't remember the details. Anyway, I still don't know how but I almost choked to death while singing because there was a noose on my neck, appeared that as if by magic. That's one of my most vivid memories, mind you. I survived quite a lot of tentative against my life.” he laughs, but it's a bit hallow. Geralt doesn't like it. “Since then, and with more and more strange things that happened before that and after that particular case, I was called the cursed boy, the cursed child, whatever. Cursed was the key word. Probably that's why no one ever, uh, adopted me. I was kicked out the orphanage when I turned eighteen and the rectress didn't have to take me there by law anymore.”

“I'm so sorry, Jaskier.” exclaims Ciri, taking his hands in hers. They are both seated on the ground, while Yennefer is elegantly on the bed. Geralt is looking at them from the window: there, he has the perfect view of the door and of the outside, in case someone wants to pay them a visit.

“Surely not your fault, Ciri.” Jaskier smiles, “That's it. I know nothing else.”

Yennefer hums, “Well, this is strange. Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Nothing comes to your mind?”

He frowns, “It should?”

“Actually, yes.” Yennefer sighs, “Ciri?”

“It's about the Pankratz family that may have been killed by a _magical_ explosion?”

“I thank Lilit everyday that you are with us, or else I would have been the only one to know how to use her own brain.”

Ciri chuckles. She still doesn't leave Jaskier's hands. “But that's not a sure thing, Yen.”

“I know, but think about that: the magic that killed all the family somehow failed on Julian – on Jaskier, in this case. So, it is still on the leash, it still has a goal to reach. That's why those strange things happens to you sometimes. It's just unleashed magic that is following you and will not leave you until you are dead.”

Geralt growls softly at that. His skin prickles just at the thought of Jaskier wounded, he doesn't like the awful sensation he feels when he thinks he may _die_. For fuck's sake. “Or maybe,” he says, with a low voice, “There is someone that leashes the magic on him.”

“Unlikely. This someone has to know where he is every time. Not necessarily next to him, but at least they have to know his whereabouts.”

“Someone is spying on him, then.”

“I would have felt them. And he would have been already dead.”

“Shit.”

“Uhm,” Ciri intrudes, “Didn't the Pankratz family had a mage on their court?”

“He's dead.” Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri's eyes all lay on Jaskier, that seems to be as surprised as they are about what he has just said. “Uh, I don't know why I have this knowledge, but somehow I know that I'm right.”

Yennefer narrows her eyes, “You know about this mage? The name, how he died?”

“Nope.”

“Somehow,” she says, after a minute or so, “I trust him. So, the culprit is not the Pankratz's mage. Not at this curse, at least.” she indicates Jaskier, with the wiggle of a delicate finger. “So, this means that the probability that it is about magic unleashed is getting higher.”

“So, it _is_ a curse.” murmurs Jaskier.

“In a sense, yes.”

“Nothing changed, then. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Jaskier chuckles, and finishes eating his bread with the ham and cheese inside.

That night, Geralt's eyes don't leave Jaskier's face, not even once. He's almost afraid that if he does, something much more greater than himself will come and kill him. He raises an hand, and with the softest touch he can muster, he caresses one of his cheeks, the one not completely smashed against the armchair. His skin is soft, and warm. It's the proof that he's still alive.

He can't bear to think of that cheek cold and still.

Geralt doesn't know why or _how_ , but Jaskier, in such a short time, has become one of the most important people in Geralt's life. If he's going to lose him, it would be as if he's just losing Ciri or Yennefer.

The thought is unbearable.

Geralt doesn't get any sleep that night.

“I do not want to wait for a ferry, end of the discussion. Get in the fucking portal, Geralt, and leave that trap alone.”

Yennefer has opened a portal behind her back – Oxenfurt on the other side, and she's tapping her feet against the ground in an annoyed rhythm. She is also throwing daggers at him with her eyes, and Geralt wouldn't get surprised if those metaphorical daggers suddenly become real objects.

“Hm.” he just grunts, his hands on Roach's roof.

“Geralt doesn't like to leave Roach behind.” whispers Ciri in Jaskier's ear, with a conspiratorial tone.

“I believe that very much, considering that he has given her a name.”

Something akin to affection blooms in his chest when he hears Jaskier using the female pronoun for his car.

“Did I tell you the story of that name?”

“Nope.”

“It's silly,” Ciri laughs, “Geralt always had a horse back when cars weren't even invented! He always called them Roach, like his very first one. So, he did the same with his new means of transport. In Kaer Morhen – not in Toussaint, sadly – he has at least three other horses. They are all called Roach, even the male ones.”

Jaskier blinks. Geralt hears his heart beating a bit faster. “That's...”

“Ridiculous. Stupid. Childish.” snorts Yennefer, still waiting with a vein popping on her forehead.

“ _Adorable_.” continues Jaskier, with his blue eyes shining at him. He blinks again, and looks down at Ciri, blushing as he sees her smirking, “What? It's cute, alright? Shall we go now? I'm not immortal, I don't have a lot of time available to waste!”

Geralt cocks his head to have a better look at the red on his cheeks, on the same cheek he passed all the night caressing. He follows him through the portal without much complains – he hates portals and hates leaving Roach behind, but somehow he hates more getting farther from him. Who knows what could happen.

Yennefer snorts, and complains about stupid, oblivious and thick–headed Witchers.

Jaskier's orphanage is old, rusty and smells like dust, located in the outskirts of Oxenfurt. The gate at the entrance creeks when Geralt opens it, and Jaskier flinches at that sound. When Geralt looks at him with a question untold, he just shrugs and walks towards the giant doorway.

“There's another little, tiny thing that I kinda forgot to tell you.” he says, after crossing the dry garden at the entrance and ringed the bell.

“What now?” blurts Yennefer. Her vein on her forehead pops out again.

“The rectress, well...” he shrugs, “She has always hated me. She probably still does. 'Cause, the curse, you know. She says that I bring misfortune, and death, and also that I'm probably the spawn of evil?”

“Charming woman.” Geralt grunts.

“And you didn't see her yet.” he shrugs again, as if he doesn't care. Geralt is pretty sure that he cares quite a lot, instead. “Just saying, it probably won't be easy to talk with her.”

“Hm. We'll see.”

When the door opens, a young girl with a flaming red colored pixie cut welcomes them. Jaskier immediately perks at her sight, “Shani!”

“Oh, Gods.” she moans, “ _Jaskier._ ”

“It's good to see you again, after so long. You are as beautiful as you were that awful day where the rectress kicked me out of here. You cut your hair, wasn't it longer? Anyway, it suits you. Makes you seem older. Are you still working here for that old hag? For free?”

Shani raises her eyes to the sky, but her lips tug slightly into a smile, “Hell, I missed you.” she says, almost grudgingly. “But you shouldn't be here. What do you want?”

“We need to talk with the rectress.” intrudes Yennefer, with a cold stare.

“Ah, well.” Shani fidgets with the pommel of the door, “She doesn't want Jaskier to enter here, so...”

“If I could have been able to murder her, I would have done that ages ago!” blurts out Jaskier, rolling his eyes quite dramatically. “That lady makes no sense.”

Shani looks at Yennefer apologetically, “She's scared of Jaskier. So, he cannot enter.”

“She is scared of Jaskier.” repeats Yennefer, with an unbelievable hint in her voice. Shani nods, “I mean, are we looking at the same man? She is afraid of _him_?”

Geralt understands why Yennefer sounds so disbelieving. Jaskier is there, next to her, in his colorful satin chemise and lime green trousers that don't even cover his knees. His expression is open and trusting. The blue in his eyes is calming, they glint of a force that has not the least hint of malignity in it. His voice is soothing, even more for people like Geralt that have enhanced senses.

Geralt cannot understand how people hate Jaskier, or have fear of him. He's the most precious being Geralt knows apart from Ciri.

He bristles at those thoughts, while Shani chuckles, “Yeah, I know. He's just a bit unlucky, but he's definitely not a bad person. Even if sometime he tries so hard to be.”

“Thanks.” mumbles Jaskier, deadpanned. “Putting that aside, I don't really want to come in, so I just have to wait here while you three interrogate the old hag. I don't mind.”

“Or you do this, or you all have to go.” says Shani, leaning on the doorway.

Geralt doesn't want to have none of that shit, though. He gets closer to Jaskier until he can murmurs directly into his face. Jaskier doesn't shrink away, not even once. “It's not fair. All this thing is about _you_.”

“I trust you to tell me what you discover later.”

Something warm makes its place in his chest, knowing that Jaskier _trust_ him. He pursues his lips, though, “I won't leave you out here alone. What if–”

“ _What if_ nothing, Geralt.” Jaskier huffs, looking outraged. “I survived before I met you, remember? So, _shoo_ , go now, don't let Her Majesty wait. You don't want to let her mad, I know.”

“No, he wants not.” Yennefer is glaring. It's not a good sign.

Sighing, Geralt admits defeat. “Ciri, stay with him. Don't let him go straight into trouble.”

“Hey! _Rude_!”

Ciri, smiling, draws a cross on her chest, upon her heart, promising that.

“The rectress' office is at the end of that corridor,” with a finger, Shani indicates the right one at her shoulder, “The last door, on the right.”

“Come on, Geralt. Hurry up, we do not have all day.”

With one last sighs, Geralt follows Yennefer inside the orphanage. There, the smell of dust is even stronger, and he can hear some light breathing upstairs, adding to some tapping of little feet against the linoleum of the floor. As far as he can guess, there aren't a lot of children left to rot here. And probably the only adults living here are Shani and the rectress.

They stop in front of a marble door, and Yennefer knocks against it with an annoyed bumps of her fingers. They hear a “Come in.” in a low, crackly voice.

Inside, there's an old woman with shoulder–length gray hair, hunched on a desk and buried in paperwork. This office almost resembles Jaskier's house. Almost. It's quite aseptic in comparison to the multitude of colors and _life_ that always surround Jaskier.

When she looks at them, she scowls, “I don't have time,” then, she narrows her black eyes, “Especially for Witchers. Here there's no job for the kinds of you.”

“I am no Witcher.” Yennefer tells her, as she enters into the office as if it belongs to her.

The old woman watches Yennefer as she sits on one of the chair in front of the desk. Geralt just looms behind her back. “I don't let Witchers adopt my children.”

“We already have a daughter, thank you.” Yennefer slits her eyes. Geralt can't quite see her face, but he knows her, and he knows that she is indeed making her peculiar threatening face. He gladly lets her do all the talking, she always obtains more than he could even hope for. “We are here to ask you some questions about one of your... ex children. His name is Jaskier.”

“He's here? He's not here, right? Oh, damn him, damn him. He brings death upon his head!”

“Yes,” Geralt knows that now Yennefer is rolling her eyes, “Could you tell us more? Like, the day you find him? If there was someone else with him? If he said something worth knowing?”

“Did he hire you to find the family that abandoned him? They abandoned him for a reason, damn them. Or are you his companions?” she glare at them, “Witchers bring misfortune.”

Geralt snorts, “Death, don't forget death.”

“I know nothing, and I want nothing to do with the lot of you. I want nothing to do with Jaskier either. All I know is that he was a toddler when he popped out of nowhere, with that fucking lute, and that he has something evil in him.”

“Out of nowhere?” asks Yennefer.

“He just appeared out of the office, there.” the rectress indicates the door at Geralt's shoulder, “I heard him cry, that's why I knew he was there. Don't fucking know how he reached my door, no one saw him enter through the gate. That evil's spawn must have been entered though a window, like a robber.”

Geralt and Yennefer look at each other.

 _Portal_ , Yennefer's eyes say.

“How old were he?”

“He was a toddler. Maybe two.”

“Did he talk about something? Did he say anything about his family?”

The old woman grimaces, “Just that the lute he had with him was a present from a friend, and that it was magical. He cried all the time, didn't say much else. Then, he probably forgot: the memory of a child is ephemeral.”

Yennefer stands, after that, “Thank you for your time.”

“Go away! Scums!”

She is indeed charming, as Jaskier warned them. Once outside, Yennefer hums out loudly, “He is definitely Julian Pankratz, Geralt. A portal brought him here from Lettenhove, probably the mage of the family did that the moment the attack began. Plus, we have the lute as a proof: we just have to ask Ferrant if Julian had a lute, probably a birth present, and if it is the same as Jaskier has now.”

“Jaskier might have broken it and hence replaced it.”

“Unlikely, if it is really magical.”

“Hm.”

“Can I throw a tiny jinx at her?” Yennefer asks, indicating the closed too with a raised chin.

“Since when do you ask?”

They walk side by side through the empty corridor. On the other side, he already hears Jaskier voice and Ciri's laugh, plus some retorts that have to be Shani's.

“You like him.” says Yennefer, suddenly. And it's not a question, just an observation. “I mean, _like_ seems to be a dispersive concept, you agree? You feel more than plain likeness toward Jaskier. Quite akin to love, if you were not so... elusive about this _scaaaring_ emotion.”

Geralt tightens his lips. “Hm.” he doesn't know how to respond.

“Pity that you surely will not do anything about this. Ciri _adores_ him. And I like him well enough. As for him... He is already, stupidly in love, do not try to tell otherwise. You cannot be so oblivious, I am sure you know that even without my revelation.”

“Hm.”

“Just, one last thing, Geralt.” she stops him right before they reach Ciri and Jaskier, “Whatever you want to do with him, do not break his heart. He does not deserve it.”

“I would never.” he says, without waiting a beat. Almost solemnly.

Because he maybe still doesn't know what to do with the things he's feeling, what to do with the affection he has in Jaskier's regards – or what to do with _Jaskier's_ affection in his regards. But one thing is clear: he won't ever, _ever_ let him suffer, if he can avoid it. He won't ever permit anyone – even less himself – to let him cry, to let him ache.

What's clear in Geralt's mind is that he wants to preserve Jaskier's smile, as if it is the most precious, fragile thing left in this fucked up world.

Yennefer is tired, and a bit drained. She used quite the amount of magic the past two days, with the bird–like things and the punctured tires and the portal. So, this time Ciri and Jaskier – and yes, Geralt too, because he's worried for her, not much else – convince Yennefer to wait for the ferry, to cross the canal. The next one is in the late afternoon, and that's okay.

Geralt follows Jaskier like a shadow through the chaotic streets of Oxenfurt, after telling him what Yennefer and he discovered.

Jaskier shows them his favourite shops and restaurants around the city; he shows them the university he so much desired to enroll but the orphanage didn't have enough money for that; he shows them the little boutique where he sometimes has stolen some perfumed vial, and learned how to make one himself. The chamomile oil, as he confesses with a blush, is his first experiment. “It's plain, I know.” he shrugs, “But I was really proud that time!”

Geralt buys some journals and colorful pens for Ciri, and tries to also buy the book Yennefer is eyeing, but she just glare at him and says that she can buy it herself, thank you very much.

But it's Jaskier that buys something for him. He comes to him almost running, with a bouquet of dry flowers in his arms. “I found not–quite dry buttercups and dandelions. I want to try and do some oils with them!”

“They are weeds. And they are poisonous.”

Jaskier grins, “Thanks.” at Geralt's confused stare, he chuckles, “My name means buttercup. Back when the garden of the orphanage wasn't dry, and I was as tall as a dwarf, it was like an endless sea of yellow flowers.”

“Now we know that your real name is Julian.”

Jaskier pouts, unconvinced. “I like Jaskier better.” he grabs a little, dry buttercup and, with utter care, he ties it in Geralt's armor, at heart level. “See? Better. Now, half of the flowers will be used to the oils, and the rest, uhm, maybe Roach deserves some embellishment? Only the Gods know how much she needs something else beside deadly bombs and venomous knives!”

Then he gets distracted by a shiny trinket in a cart, and Geralt loses his attention.

He lets the flower stay, though.

When the time comes, Yennefer pays for their tickets – much to Geralt and Jaskier's dismay – and they all set out to Vizima, to where they left Roach this morning. They probably will arrive tomorrow morning, but Geralt doesn't mind: Ciri seems to be so excited to be on a ferry, it's her first time after all. They usually travel only by car, even if it means to go through the longer way. Portals are the alternative, but Geralt hates them.

Jaskier sings and plays his lute for the better part of the evening, and the passengers all listen to him, most of them also dancing along the rhythm. Ciri, obviously, joins them. Yennefer just claps her hands.

Geralt enjoys Jaskier's winks when they are turned at him.

The sun is almost set, when Jaskier bows and says that it's enough for today. He immediately joins him at the sill, he leans to see the waters under the ferry and giggles when droplets of seawater splash in his face.

“What about now?” he asks, suddenly.

“Hm?”

“You will bring me to this Ferrant guy, right? And then? If it turns out I am _really_ Julian Pankratz, what will become of me?”

“You'll be King.”

Jaskier grimaces, eyes laying on the waters. “It's not as appealing as I thought it would be.” he says, somehow bitterly, “I mean, I'm not so ambitious – well, no, _I am_ , really, but being a King isn't for me. I wanna travel around the Continent as a musician, being the idol of the teenagers, and be able to still drop in some pubs to have a jig without having the whole royal guards at my feet. I want freedom. Being a King doesn't seem to be as free as I am now.”

“It's not.”

“That's what I thought.” he sighs, “Geralt, if... if I ask you to not bring me in Kerack, will you do it?” he asks then, with a tiny voice, almost covered by the noises around.

Geralt frowns. He doesn't know how he is supposed to answer that, “That's not my job, Jaskier. It's Yennefer's. Ferrant hired Yennefer, I'm just... a helper, I guess.”

Jaskier raises his eyes on him. They are as shiny as always, so sincere, so trusting. “But I'm asking _you_.”

His heart is beating loudly against his chest, Geralt hears it better while he gets closer to him. His gaze doesn't waver, _both_ their gazes don't waver. “I'll do whatever you wish, Jaskier.”

Jaskier's lids flutter, “I'm not sure what I wish for. If Ferrant is really what is left of my family, I would really like to meet him. But then... what about my quest of following you around and singing your praises?”

“Not gonna happen. I will never bring you along on hunts.”

“I'll torment you until you cannot do anything but surrender, dear Witcher.”

They lean towards each other, not quite touching themselves. Jaskier smells faintly still of chamomile, and under that there's the sweet scent of love and arousal, but then, he bristles and blinks in confusion when a droplet lands on his nose, coming down from the sky.

“It's raining...?”

Ciri comes to them running, and takes Geralt's hand, “It's starting to rain!”

“Let's go down in our cabin, then.”

“Yes, Yennefer is already there. She said that she didn't want to get drenched while waiting for you two to get you shits done.”

Jaskier blushes. He's cute, when he blushes. “C–Ciri, your mother is the worst mother ever, especially because she talks to you like that!”

Still, he follows Ciri and him to their cabin. If Jaskier is touching lightly the back of his hands with tentative fingers while walking on purpose, he doesn't mention it.

Geralt jolts awake by the loud rumble of a thunder. Shit. He had no intention of falling asleep, he much preferred to stay awake and keep a eye on Jaskier, in case something would happen – but this is likely the third night he would have passed awake, so meditation has not been enough.

He stirs. He is seated on the ground, in the usual position he takes while meditates. He throws a look on the beds: Ciri is deeply sleeping, as is Yennefer. Jaskier's bed, though, is empty.

“Fuck.” he swears.

He gets up, and puts his swords on his back, for any problem. The noise probably wakes Yennefer, because the second before he opens the door of the cabin in Jaskier's search, he hears her voice stopping him, “Where are you going, Geralt?”

“Jaskier is not here.”

She looks around, blinking the sleep away, “Maybe he needed to shit.” she shrugs, eyeing the empty bed near Ciri's.

“Maybe.” he grunts, “Doesn't hurt to go check on him.”

“You are always so protective with the ones you love, Geralt.” she chuckles, when she sees the pained look Geralt throws at her, “It _is_ a compliment.”

“Thanks.”

“Go save the prince, now. We surely do not want that the monster in the toilet eats him alive. He would hate so much dying while smelling of shit.”

Geralt grunts, “You're not funny.” he says, opening the cabin's door.

“I am _more_ than funny, I already know.”

Out in the corridor, Jaskier's scent is fading, but it doesn't head to the bathrooms. It heads toward the deck. Outside. While the fucking _sky_ is falling down.

Fuck, what the fuck is he doing out there?

Geralt follows his scent, uncaring of the fact that he gets drenched the moment his foot touches the deck. He looks around, but even with his enhanced senses, it's still difficult to see while the rain is so thick – the rain also has made Jaskier's scent even fainter, so he cannot even follows his trail.

But he can hear him just fine, even under the rumbles of the thunders.

He's laughing. Geralt now he can recognize Jaskier's laugh among thousands, and he can understand beforehand if it's just an hallucination or if it's his real laugh. He's chuckling, somewhere on the deck, and even if it's the strangest thing Geralt has ever found himself in, he doesn't stop questioning himself why the fuck Jaskier is laughing marry and happy under a storm.

He finds him on the edge of the ferry, leaning too much toward the waters.

“Jaskier!”

He chuckles again, and then he jumps on the sill. He trips but he doesn't fall for his death, and Geralt's heart almost stops beating.

“Jaskier, what the fuck are you doing?!” he shouts under the rumbles, getting closer.

He doesn't want to scare him and let him fall into the waters, so Geralt doesn't just take a sprint and take him into his arms. Jaskier seems to not acknowledge his presence looming behind, he seems... almost asleep. He's dreaming, he's sleepwalking.

In all this weeks, this is the first time Geralt sees him like this.

Suddenly, Jaskier screams. The stench of fear hits him like a punch, a no, it's not right. The putrid smell of fear isn't right on Jaskier, it's abnormal.

He screams, and his voice cracks. Geralt sees him trashing his arms around, as is something is attacking him and he's defending himself.

Then, he slips.

Geralt catches him the moment he – thankfully – falls on his back. He's still trashing, still moving agitated, still shouting. Still full of fear.

Geralt touches his cheek that's cold, _so_ cold, and finally, he opens his eyes. They look at him unseeingly, at first. Then, his face cracks, his arms raises and Jaskier is hugging him and crying against his shoulder, as if the storm doesn't even exist. Jaskier is searching for comfort, because he's still so scared – Geralt remembers when Ciri had the same scent on her, right after a nightmare. She dreamed of her papa and her mama and her grandparents, and cried so loud while burying her wet face against his chest.

“It was a nightmare,” Geralt murmurs, trying to softens his voice, caressing Jaskier's drenched hair as he always did with Ciri. “It's alright, now. I'm here.”

“It wasn't a nightmare.” hiccups Jaskier, tightening his arms around his neck, “It was so real, so, so real. It wasn't a nightmare.”

And Geralt believes him.

He gets up with him in his arms, he doesn't have any intention of letting him go. He brings him back into their cabin, where Geralt finds a frantic Yennefer doing something with crackling magic on her fingers – but she stops the moment she sees them.

“I was wrong.” she says, grudgingly.

“Sometimes it happens at the mighty ones, too.”

She grabs the sheets from her own bed and wraps Jaskier in them. He's trembling, and probably not only for the cold. “Come on, musician.” she murmurs, softly, as if she too doesn't want to scare him. “It is all alright now. Geralt, lay him there, on his bed.”

Geralt does that. He doesn't get away after, though, because Jaskier refuses to lay and rest, he just sits and grabs Geralt hands. His face is almost neutral while he looks at Yennefer, but Geralt doesn't like the dimmed light in his eyes. They are usually so shiny.

“I felt magic. I was trying to capture it to examine then later, but it disappeared before I could do anything.” she snorts, annoyingly. “What happened to you, Jaskier?”

“You called me Jaskier. What about my usual sarcastic pet name?”

Geralt feels relieved hearing Jaskier just being himself. He may be scared, but he's as strong as always. Yennefer just raises an eyebrow.

“I was sleeping.” Jaskier sighs, fidgeting with a hem of the sheet. He talks slowly, with a low voice, to not wake Ciri up. “I guess at fist I was indeed sleeping. Then, I don't know what happened, the dreams became too real, too tangible. They weren't dreams, they couldn't be.” he swallows, “Somehow you always know when you are dreaming or not. That, that was a memory, even if I never lived that moment.”

“What is it that you saw?” asks Yennefer.

Jaskier looks at Geralt, then at her again, “I was... by a river? It seems the same river that crosses Lettenhove, but I'm not so sure. I was there with some people, and I _know_ that the man was my father, and the girls were my sisters. I never saw them, but I _know_ them, I know that they really was.”

“Were they the same of the Pankratz portrait?”

Jaskier nods, “Yeah. Yeah, they were. They wanted me to jump in the river with them. They did, but I didn't follow. They insisted, and kept insisting, but when they understood that I wouldn't jump after them, because I can't fucking swim, they... _twisted_.” he stops, and looks down. “Their faces twisted and they became monstrous, and they started to pull me down. And I _felt_ the pull. I physically felt it.”

“That was indeed magic, Jaskier. They were not dreams.” says Yennefer. With a flicks of her fingers, she dries them both. Jaskier's lids are drooping. He must be exhausted. “They were not memories either, or better, not yours. They were more like hallucinations.”

“What now? Whoever is doing this is also controlling his mind now?” growls Geralt.

“I doubt it. It may just be the same residue of magic trying to kill him.”

“And _what now_?”

Yennefer shrugs, as if she doesn't care. Her eyes are looking at Jaskier worryingly, though. “We will bring him to Ferrant. Then we will see, probably King Belohun has already a mage in his court that can help us. For now,” she moves a hand slowly upon Jaskier's head. He doesn't move an inch when magic starts to shine on his skin. “This will protect you for a while.”

“Thank you, Yen.”

“It will always be Your Majesty to you, do not get ahead of yourself.”

“We're even now, then.”

Yennefer smiles, strokes one of his shoulder, then stands to reach her bed. On her way, she throws Geralt a silent look.

He responds with just a nod. And doesn't move from Jaskier's bed, not even when he finally falls in an agitated sleep.

The next day, the ferry arrives in Vizima, and, in a heavy silence, they walk to Roach. Geralt can clearly hear Ciri being confused, she doesn't understand why Jaskier is trying to rip their ears off with chatters and stupid anecdotes. But she's also clever, so she doesn't bug him.

It's Yennefer that tries to distract her, so she does not make inappropriate questions, finding herself to promise Ciri that she'll teach her how to curse a person hair to make the strands looks like serpents. She groans, when she gets that Ciri tricked her, making Jaskier laughs.

“I will teach you on the way to Lettenhove.” Yennefer sighs, opening the the Roach's backseat door, letting Ciri enter. “If you are able to stay awake during all the lesson.”

“I will!”

She will not. And Yennefer knows that.

Jaskier goes, in silence, to sit in the passenger seat. For half the trip, he just has his eyes on the car window, lost in thoughts. No one dares to disturb him, and under the quite voice of Yennefer, Ciri is lulled by sleep after no more than an hours after they set off.

When, looking in the rearview mirror, Geralt sees also Yennefer starting to get so bored – not even distracted by Jaskier's chatters, not being there this time – that her heavy, dark colored lids drop.

It's Geralt that wakes Jaskier from his daydreams with a caress on his cheek. He jolts at the contact, and immediately Geralt feels bad about that. “Sorry.” mumbles, looking again at the road in front of him.

“Oh, no. It's okay.”

“You're quiet.”

“Strange, right?” he smiles, “Yeah, I feel a bit under the weather. It's, uh, awful that the first time I see what should be my family they try to drown me. Quite literally, even if it was only in my mind.”

“Hm.” Geralt frowns, “It's false, though.”

“I know, but... I wonder why they abandoned me, alone, to fight all of this. After a while, it's tiring running away from death all my life. It would have been easy if I just... died with them.”

“No.” It comes out more harder than intended, “They did not abandoned you, they _saved_ you.”

“Maybe.”

Then, he doesn't know why he keeps talking. What he wants it's just make the smile returns on Jaskier's face, because he promised to preserve it, to never sadden him. He doesn't know why he says that, he just think that... it feels like it's the right thing to do. “I was abandoned, as a child. My mother gave me to the Witchers, to let me become one. So I know the difference, Jaskier. I tried to never let Ciri in my life because of her, because I thought I needn't no one, even less a child. But then... I couldn't the same, I couldn't abandon her. And she's the best damn thing happened in my life. I am a better person since she came to me; less angry, less lonely, more... hm, emotionally involved, Yennefer would say. I guess she's right.”

“I'm sorry, about... but... Whoa, that's... the most I heard you talking.”

“Sometimes it happens. That's the crux of being a proud father.”

Finally, Jaskier smiles. “That's sweet.”

“I dare say saccharine.” they hear Yennefer mumbles. She still has her eyes closed, but she is indeed awake. Maybe since they started to talk. Maybe she really never fell asleep. It's always a mystery with Yennefer.

“You are just jealous.” he says to her, “Because I'm Ciri's favourite.”

“I never heard a sentence so false in my life.”

Jaskier clears his throat, “I hate to break it up to you, but your era is ended when I came into Ciri's life. Now _I_ am indeed Ciri's favourite person.”

“He's right.” mumbles a sleeping Ciri. If she's awake, it means that's almost lunch time.

“You are wounding your mother, Cirilla. Be aware of that.”

“ _Shit_ :”

“Language, duckling.”

Geralt scoffs, “It's your fault if she talks like this.”

“You have no proofs. Calanthe was no saint.”

Jaskier laughs until he has tears in his eyes while Ciri, more awake now, starts to list all the creative dirty words her grandmother taught her since she was a toddler, and Geralt can't help but think that it's really the best sound in the world.

They stop at Lettenhove for the night, returning back in the chaos that is Jaskier's apartment. Ciri tells him that it's probably the last time they will sleep there, because when he'll be King, he'll have an entire palace available.

Jaskier makes a face at that. His blue eyes start to look at his house already with longing.

Ciri and Yennefer go into Jaskier's room to sleep, so Jaskier and he lay on his couch, zapping at the television. They make themselves comfortable while watching a man baking an elaborated cake, but Geralt is pretty sure that the scent of arousal waving off Jaskier isn't caused by that chef.

Still, Geralt doesn't move, and neither does Jaskier – even if the feeling that's tempting him to kiss Jaskier is strong, very strong, he resists.

In the end, Jaskier falls asleep with his head against his chest, and a hand that, slowly, has crept into his during the night.

Kerack isn't too far away from Lettenhove. In two, maybe three hours if Geralt doesn't want to strain Roach too much, they will arrive there, at King Belohun's palace. Jaskier is nervous to meet Ferrant, but he still seems to be more himself than the day before.

He sings throughout the trip, he even takes his lute from Roach's trunk, so for the following two hours Ciri and he sing the worst, childish song comes up to Jaskier's mind, much to Yennefer dismay. He sings even a ode to a violet–eyed, black–haired, terrifying witch that instead of enrage Yennefer more, she seems quite pleased of how it turned out.

Then, with a wink, Jaskier confesses to Ciri that the song about the White Wolf will be a private concert for another time.

Geralt parks uncaring in front of the stately palace, and he ignores the guards that try to shoo them away. Yennefer, with the vein on her forehead popped out, tells them: “I have an encounter with Ferrant the Lettenhove for a question very dear to King Belohun, it is better to not annoy me or you will annoy your compassionate King too.”

They let him enter not much later.

“Do you know where we are intended to go? Shouldn't we wait for, I don't know, a servant to bring us to Ferrant?” asks Jaskier, settling his lute better on his shoulder.

“I know this place better than my pockets, musician. Do not underestimate me.”

“I would never.” he mumbles, “It was only a question. You're all so rude.”

There is a tingling feeling on his skin that Geralt can't quite get.

Yennefer knocks loudly against a giant, marble door. The noise should have been deaf, but instead her knock echoes all around the corridor. Whoever is inside the room – Ferrant, if Geralt has to guess – has surely heard her.

Without waiting for a response, Yennefer opens the door. Before entering, she turns around to look at Ciri and he, “You two should wait here.”

“What? Why?” asks Jaskier, and his eyes falls on Geralt.

“It is a delicate thing. You may be wanting to stay alone with your cousin. I will just introduce you, tell Ferrant what we have done these past few days, then I will go.”

“I,” Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek. He's nervous, “I much prefer to have all of you with me, if it's not a problem.”

Yennefer blinks. She looks at Geralt briefly, then at Jaskier again, “It should not be a problem. Come on in, then.”

Geralt looms behind Jaskier like a shadow, while he studies their surrounding, once inside. The room is as stately as the rest of the palace, colored in white marble and golden garnishments. It resembles so much the Pankratz's palace, or how it had been in his splendor before the attack.

At the desks in the middle of the wall in front of the door, there is a man seated there. He looks at Yennefer and his blue eyes – not much as shiny as Jaskier's, but someone with a less attention for details can easily make the mistake of thinking they are the very same – glints of something that Geralt thinks is happiness, but he may be wrong.

“Lady Yennefer!” he greets her, standing up from his seat and walking towards her. He takes a hold of her hand to his her knuckles. “I'm very glad to see you. I haven't heard you in weeks.”

“Ferrant,” she says, quietly, almost bored, “It is because I completed the job. I have found Julian Alfred Pankratz, as you asked me. Alive.” she eyes Jaskier, with a grin, “Very much alive.”

Ferrant looks at Jaskier too, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't seem too surprised. He smiles, and touches Jaskier's face, cradling it in the palms of his hands. “Oh, Julian. I knew I would have find you.”

“He has the lute. Julian had a lute gifted to him as a baby, am I right?”

“He had, yes.” Ferrant glances at the lute on Jaskier's back, “It was a very dear gift from the Pankratz's mage. He was an elf, actually, always saying that the gifted lute had magic in it.”

“An elf? Aren't they almost extincted?” asks Jaskier, taking Ferrant's hands and taking them off his face. He has a slightly grimace twisting his mouth.

“They probably are, now.” Geralt narrows his eyes. So, Ferrant knows that the Pankratz's mage is dead – since now, only Jaskier has known that, had been the mage taking Jaskier to safety eighteen years ago. “But we have a lot to talk, Julian, you and I. All the region, all the Continent has to know that you survived that day of December. People thought that I was mad with sorrow, having lost all my family in one day, that I held in the unmotivated hope to find you alive. They were wrong, because here you are! Alive!” Ferrant looks at Jaskier up and down, “Dressed in rags, but alive.”

Jaskier gasps, “In _rags_? They're my best clothes!”

“Here you will have better, cousin. You can ask for whatever you wish, everything is due to you.”

Jaskier glances at Ciri, that is covering a smile behind a hand. “I used half my pay to buy this satin chemise, I cannot bear to let it called a _rag_.”

“Tonight will be celebrated your return.” Jaskier's ears perks at that, “And you will meet officially King Belohun. You will have plenty of clothes to choose for your wardrobe.”

“I will be celebrated? Like, in a party?”

There is something wrong in this. Ferrant seems to have accepted Jaskier's presence too easily, he has immediately believed that he's his lost cousin without much of a glance. He may be having an awfully lot of trust towards Yennefer's judgment, but still, it's way too strange.

Yennefer doesn't seem to be perturbed by Ferrant's reactions, though, so Geralt stays silent.

“Yes, Julian.” Ferrant smiles.

“Whoa.” Jaskier turns to Ciri, “I will find you the most _frilly_ dress ever existed, and you _have_ to wear it. It's my party, there are my rules.”

“I will never!” complains Ciri.

“In this case, the word _never_ doesn't exist. You will wear that, you like it or not.”

“At least don't let me wear something _pink_. Or worse, with _glitters_.”

“I won't promise you anything.”

Ferrant clears his throat, “Julian, I am very sorry, but I cannot invite people from outside. King Belohun would surely meet you in private, with just his court as witness. I'm not talking to you, Lady Yennefer, after all it's you that find him so you are free to join the celebrations, but... I'm quite sure that King Belohun won't be happy to know that the Butcher of Blaviken is invited. And this is no place for a little child.”

Geralt freezes, his jaw twitching, Ciri flinches. Yennefer just narrows her eyes.

But what breaks Geralt the most is Jaskier's reaction: he turns to look at him with wide, big, disoriented eyes. “The Butcher of... you are the Butcher of Blaviken?” he whispers, incredulously. His smell doesn't change, but Geralt can't bear to look at him in the eyes anymore.

“You didn't know? You came here in his company and you didn't know who he really is?”

“Ferrant, now, that is uncalled for.” says Yennefer. “He helped me.”

“Then I'm grateful to him, too. But he cannot stay.”

“I won't stay.” he finds himself say, already turning his back at all of them. “Say goodbye, Ciri. I'm going to wait outside.”

Silence follows his words. But when he's out of that room and is crossing the corridor towards the exit, he hears noisy steps catching behind him, and a heavy breath. “Geralt,” Jaskier calls his name, and then a grip on his forearm stops him in his track.

Turning, he sees Jaskier with red cheeks, and shining blue eyes. “What?” he asks, probably more harsh than intended. It's been so long since someone called him the Butcher, but it still brings him on edge. And also, hearing _Jaskier_ calling him like that–

“Where are you going? Are you mad because I didn't know that you are the Butcher of Blaviken?” Geralt flinches, but so imperceptibly that Jaskier doesn't acknowledge that, “Well, maybe because I don't care about what you did five centuries ago? I want you here, you and Ciri. I will talk to the King, if he wants me he has to accept you too and–”

“There's no need to.”

He prefers to get away now, before the light in Jaskier's eyes change when he looks at him.

Jaskier takes his hand off him as if burned. “W–What?”

“I won't stay, Jaskier.”

“Why?” then he blinks, “You know what? I have no intention to stay either. Take me away from here. I don't like Ferrant, and I don't care about being a King.”

But Jaskier stops talking when he sees Geralt shaking his head. “No, Jaskier. You should stay.”

“You said that you wouldn't bring me here if I wished so. Now I wish very badly to go back into my apartment and eat cold spaghetti with Ciri and Yennefer and watch some trash program on the television with you. That's what I wish for.”

Geralt raises an hand, and caresses his cheek. He'll miss this gesture. But he has to get away, before the love in Jaskier's eyes becomes hate. “This is your place.”

“This is _no_ place for me. I won't be happy here!”

“You won't be happy with me either.”

And that's the truth. Geralt doesn't know what he was doing until now, but whatever it was now has to stop. He cares for him – hell, he might even love him, probably. But still, a Witcher has no place in the heart of a future King. This was supposed to end badly from the start, Geralt has just been dragged by Jaskier's eyes, and smiles, and loving smell and loving chatters, without thinking, not even once, about consequences.

He promised to preserve his smile.

He's the one, now, that's caused that smile to disappear. He has to go away now, to make it reappear again.

“You know nothing, Geralt.” Jaskier says, bitterly. His voice is broken, as if a lump got stuck in his throat. “You all are the only family I ever had. And you are the only one I ever loved. You know nothing about my happiness.”

After saying than, Jaskier walks away from him. To where, Geralt doesn't know.

He doesn't follow him to discover that.

Ciri is angry at him, and Geralt supposes that Yennefer is too. Neither of them are talking to him, and Geralt, while driving farther away from Kerack, can feel their displeasure almost tangibly.

They both talked to Jaskier before parting, but they don't seem to have any intention to tell him about what. Not that Geralt will ask that, he won't. But he would like to know if Jaskier said something similar to what he said to him.

_And you are the only one I ever loved._

Fuck.

“Where are we going?” asks Yennefer, with a bored voice. She is seated behind Geralt, next to a brooding Ciri. From the rearview mirror, Geralt sees that the drying tears are making salty trails on her reddening cheeks.

“Ciri and I are going to Toussaint. If you wish, you can come with us. Or else I can bring you whatever you have to go.”

“I want to go to Kaer Morhen.” says Ciri, “I want to stay with Lambert and Eskel now.”

“Hm.” he grunts, eyeing her from the mirror, “You now prefer Lambert to me?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me, Ciri.”

“Good.”

Yennefer cracks a laugh. “You deserve as much, you idiot. I told you not to break his heart, but no, you ignored my advices as always, and now Ciri hates you.”

“She doesn't hate me.”

“No,” Ciri says, petulantly, “But right now I don't like you. I wanted to stay with Jaskier, because he wanted me there, and wanted Yen there, and wanted _you_ there. And you _abandoned_ him!”

He did that, didn't he? He abandoned him. He did that, when he asked to take him away from there with tears in his eyes. He did that, even after Jaskier said: _you all are the only family I ever had, you are the only one I ever loved._

His eyes falls on the dried flowers that now decorate Roach's interiors. He tightens his jaw.

“What if something happens to him? He doesn't have Yen's protection anymore!” cries Ciri, biting her lower lip.

“You do not have to worry about that, duckling. We already talked about this with him before we parted, remember?” Yennefer throws a glace at him through the window, “He is going to be fine. King Belohun has a mage in his court. And Ferrant has surely another one at his back and call.”

Geralt narrows his eyes, “Another one?”

“Yes,” Yennefer moves around a hand in a bored gesture, “They did not grace us of their presence, and Ferrant did not mention them at all. But I felt their presence, and they are stronger than the mage in the King's court. I am sure that with two mages at his feet, Jaskier will be untouchable.”

“Why did Ferrant ask _you_ to search for Julian Pankratz if he had already a mage on tap?”

“What?”

Geralt brakes in the middle of the street, and thankfully no one is around. There is something that's churning his insides, he has a bad feeling that he has probably lost a crucial particular.

He turns to look at Yennefer, “Ferrant has already a mage to do whatever he asks for. Why hiring you, then?”

“Because I am better?”

“No, that's not it.” Yennefer glare at him, but he doesn't have time to think about her offense right now. He suddenly remembers the tingling feeling he felt the moment he put his foot into the King's palace. A magic he already felt before – on the ferry, on Jaskier. “You never felt that mage's type of magic before?” She blinks, and her violet eyes become lost in thoughts, “When the birds attacked? On the ferry?”

Yennefer stares right back at him. She has a worried expression now on her face, almost scared. It's never a good sign when Yennefer is scared. “Go back to Kerack.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Geralt starts Roach and does a u–turn. Ciri shouts, she hasn't expected from him such a brute gesture, especially with Roach, but Geralt's ears now are whistling, he can't hear anything. If something has already happened to Jaskier just because he's been too stubborn, too much of an idiot to raise him on his shoulder and take him far away from that place, the same place he begged so much to not stay, he'll never forgive himself.

“What? What's happening?” Ciri is still shouting, her hands are holding the seat in a nervous grip.

“We have been blind, Ciri. Too naive. Ferrant does not care about Jaskier, he wants him dead.”

“But– But he's his family!”

“Ferrant lost track of him two years ago, actually the same years as when Jaskier was kicked out of the orphanage. He is searching for him so frantically since then. Before, as far as I know, he was more blatant in his research.”

“He was playing with him.” growls Geralt, hands tight on the wheel. “He was in an orphanage, he knew that. He played with him, then he panicked when he lost him. Jaskier kept moving around the Continent for his jigs, so it's been difficult for him to track his movements.”

“And if he had commanded his mage to find him, it would have been too obvious when Jaskier would have died after. That is why he asked for me, to track me. That _ruffian_.”

Heavy silence falls upon them, broken just by the rumble of Roach's engine.

“He's in danger?” asks Ciri, with a thin voice.

Yennefer caresses his hair, “No, duckling. He is fine. Remember? He can take care of himself.”

But Geralt hears what Yennefer isn't saying. _He can be already dead._

Because before Ferrant was only playing with him. Now, he just want him dead.

The buttercup Jaskier gifted him falls from the dashboard to the passenger seat. He pushes the accelerator, and Roach rumbles.

They arrive at King Belohun's palace in the evening. Geralt hears a lot of voices coming from the palace, from the entire hall, from the guest's rooms. The celebrations have already began. Geralt inhales deeply, but he can't scent Jaskier there, when they knock out the guards and reach the corridors to the party.

“Yennefer, you go there. If you find Ferrant and the mage, kill them. Jaskier's trail heads to the gardens, but I'm not sure if he's still there. Ciri, if you find Jaskier before us, take him to Roach. You have my permission to drive her.”

Ciri blinks, “What? Are you for real?”

“Are you insane, Geralt?” snaps Yennefer, “I can't kill them in front of _everyone_. And Ciri is _twelve_ , she cannot fucking drive.” Geralt bares his teeth, and Yennefer sighs, pinching her nose, “We need to calm the fuck down, we will just bring him far away from Ferrant, for now. Go in the gardens, I go to into the party considering that _I_ was invited after all, and Ciri... stay here. If you see Jaskier, take him and _wait for us_ into Roach. Dare not to drive that wreck of a car, or there will be trouble for you.”

Geralt takes two steps towards the garden, and then, “You called my car Roach.”

“Oh, Lilit.” Yennefer grimaces, “I did.”

They share a smile, then they part.

He finds him in the gardens. They are huge, labyrinthine. They smell of roses and artificial fertilizer, but the trail of chamomile oil and sunbathed meadows is strong – Jaskier had a bath no too long ago, it seems. It is just a couple of hours, maybe three that he doesn't see him, doesn't see his face and hear his voice, and feeling his scent now deep into his lungs is now overwhelming. He's missed him.

He's sit in a bench, in front of a little fountain with angelic statues and clear water. He has a frown in his face, his eyes are lost in thought. He doesn't acknowledge him immediately – he has literally no self preservation, considering that he's completely here alone. All the guests are inside the palace, still celebrating someone that apparently isn't with them anymore.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls him, softly.

But still, Jaskier jolts nonetheless, “Geralt?” he turns toward him, and his eyes widens. He has frilly clothes, shiny and made of silk and velvet. He wears those clothes as if he was born in them, he walks in them with an enviable naturalness, as he gets closer to him. “You came back.” he whispers, incredulously. His eyes are soft.

“Yes, we... have to go, Jaskier. Now.”

He takes his soft and warm hand in his, and tries to take him away from here. But Jaskier bristles, and tugs him to stop his pulling, “What? Why?”

“We've been distracted before, but now we know who's behind the attacks. You're not safe here, Yennefer will explain better later.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Wait,” Jaskier grimaces, as he steels himself, “You're not here for... You're here just for this reason?”

“Doesn't this seem like a good enough reason?” he snorts, and pulls him again, “C'mon, Jaskier. Let's just go.”

“No.” Jaskier trashes and frees his hand from his hold, and the softness in his eyes is disappeared: now, they're determinate, and wounded. There it is, the hate Geralt wanted so much to not see. “I find out that I like to stay here, with my _family_ , that will never abandon me in the first good occasion.” he sneers, “And here I almost thought that you came back for _me_ , to maybe beg for forgiveness, to maybe just tell me that you missed me and, I don't know, that you regret your words and your actions or _whatever_ , but no, right? I'm too naive, I know. You're here because if something happens to me, you will be filled with _guilt._ ”

That's true. Geralt can't say otherwise, because it's true, in part. If something would have happened to him, he would never have forgiven himself. He was ready to never see Jaskier ever again, and if it wasn't for this, he would not have come back.

But still, it's not the only reason.

“You're right.” he says then. “I am here because of the guilt I'm feeling.”

Jaskier's expression crumbles, but still, he looks straight at him with those eyes, those eyes filled with straight and sorrow.

“But I am also here because I,” he huffs, then inhales. He learned long ago to never leave anything for granted, and he learned long ago that covering his emotions and feeling won't take him anywhere if not in the bottom of despair. “Hm, I love you, Jaskier. And I will never let anything happen to the people I care for.”

Jaskier's lids flutter, “You're bluffing.” he says, his voice wavering. “You left me.”

Geralt takes his face in his hands, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs, “And I deeply regret that. But now you have to trust me, Jaskier.”

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, I trust you.” he says, almost dazedly. “And you love me, really, right? You didn't bluff, right? Wait, let's not talk about this now, because I'm too overwhelmed, fuck, you love me? Okay, uh, I have to take my lute, now. I really have only that with me, and oh, I ordered the servants to go in Lettenhove and gather all my things from the apartment. You still love me now, yeah? Good! We can go, after I withdraw my lute from my chambers. And I have to tell Ferrant that–”

“No, don't tell Ferrant.”

Jaskier eyes him curiously, “Why?”

“It's him that–”

“ _Julian_! There you are, everyone is asking where the celebrated boy is hiding himself.” Ferrant appears out of nowhere, with another man on tow, and interrupts him. His blue eyes seem to be made of stone, while he walks towards Jaskier and him, a smile on his face. Geralt, growling, pushes Jaskier behind him. He took him off guard, he was too busy listening Jaskier's blabbing than paying attention of their surrounding. Shit. “And you are talking with the Witcher? You know that he cannot be here, he's not invited to the celebrations.”

“Well,” Jaskier says, stiffed. “I invite him now. I am to believe that the King will approve of my decision. He seems to be very fond of me, am I right? He won't sadden me, depriving me of my request.”

Jaskier is not telling him anything, as he told him. He trusts him, even if he doesn't fully understand what's going on. Even after Geralt abandoned him.

Geralt unsheathed one of his swords, and points it towards Ferrant and the unknown man – that is probably his mage, the one he for so long tortured Jaskier. He won't let them get near him, not even an inch.

“Very well, let's go asking the King, then.” says Ferrant, holding out a hand, “But the Witcher has still to wait here.”

Geralt bares his teeth, “He won't move from here.”

“Are you _sequestering_ the future King, Witcher?”

“Now, now.” Jaskier chuckles, awkwardly, “I am here willingly, after all. I don't really want to follow you, though, Ferrant: does that mean that _you_ will be sequestering me?”

Ferrant's smile disappears suddenly. He sighs, and Geralt gets on guard. “You are very tiring, cousin, the same you were as a child.” He turns toward the mage, “Kill them. I'll invent something with the King. The Witcher here may provide of a good story.”

The mage starts to walk towards them, with a mean grin on his lips. Then, he throws an electric ball at them, and Geralt casts a _quen,_ shielding them both.

“I fucking hate that guy, but here I thought that I've fucking found my family! I should really not be so surprised about this turning of events!”

“You've found it. Your family, I mean.” Geralt cocks slightly his head, not getting the shield weaken, “We're not related, but you are the best uncle Ciri will ever have.”

“Uncle? I hoped to be her papa.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself. You two have just eight years of difference.”

“Details!”

Geralt uses another _quen_ , straightening more the one already shielding them. Another ball hits the shield, that wavers but not breaks.

“And Yennefer?”

“You can still talk in her presence, she didn't rip your vocal cords off in your sleep. That means she adores you.”

Geralt can _hear_ Jaskier's smile, “She's my mother, now?”

“You have to ask her. But if I was in your place, I wouldn't do it.”

Something stronger hits the shield, that's starting to crack. Fuck.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He straightens it, but it doesn't work. He doesn't have the time to lower this one and raising another, stronger one.

“Am I to be your husband, now?”

Even in this situation, Geralt cannot stop himself and laughs. He's as ridiculous as he was weeks ago, when he met him in the decaying Pankratz's palace.

And he loves him.

“Is that a proposal?”

“Only if your answer is yes. Even though, alas, I am too young to be caged in a frenetic marriage with a Witcher. But still, if you say yes...”

Geralt interrupts him, grudgingly. He kind of liked to hear him talking, especially about _them_. _Together_. “Jaskier, put your hands in my pocket.”

“Uh,” Jaskier sniffs, “I don't really think it's the right place and especially the right time for this, Geralt. I won't mind _at all_ in a bed, mind you, I wasn't complaining.”

“You're ridiculous.” laughs Geralt, while another ball of magic hits the shield.

“And you're rude. I was proposing!”

“Jaskier, there is a bomb in my pocket. Take it, and when I give you the signal, throw it at the mage.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier's voice is unsure, “the mage's too close. We'll get hit.”

“I'll shield you.” he glances at him, “Trust me.”

“ _Me_? As in, _just me_? And fuck you, Geralt, you can't use the trust card to get yourself killed!” mumbling some offenses, Jaskier starts rummaging inside his pockets. Throwing a glance at him, Geralt sees his cheeks getting red, the scent of love and arousal almost unbearably strong around him. “Uh, you don't have your potions with you? I kinda wanted to see you in your witchery form.” at his grunt, Jaskier grins, “Don't be shy, Geralt dear. I am pretty sure that I'll get even more aroused seeing you like that.”

“I doubt it, but we don't have time for this. Have you found the bomb?”

“Sorry, wrong pocket!” he shrieks, but then, finally, he grabs the bomb. “Ah ah! There you are. Now? What should I do?”

“Throw it when I say it. Then I'll do the rest. Ready?”

Jaskier nods. He has sweat pearling on his forehead, getting his fringe slightly wet. His movements are stiff, and beyond the jokes and the arousal, he's scared. He's so young, and so brave, and still – still so scared. He doesn't deserve this shit. Jaskier deserves so much more.

Geralt is willing to give him _everything_.

He waits for another ball of magic. It hits the shield, and this time, Geralt lets him break without trying to straighten it.

The mage is surprised – and off guard.

“Throw it!”

Jaskier throws the bomb right straight to the mage, that dumbly catches it. He's close, too damn close, but Geralt doesn't wait any more time. He casts an _igni_ at him and activates the bomb.

Then he turns, takes Jaskier – that yelps – in his arms, and shields him with his body. The explosion catches him, and the force of it throws him off balance. They both fall into the ground, Geralt feels his back on fire, and something hard hits his head.

“Fuck!” he hears Jaskier curse, and after the chaos ends, he finds him himself lying with his back on the ground, Jaskier hovering above him, his hands around his face, the panic written in his expression. “Don't die, Geralt! We haven't even kissed!”

“I'm not dying by a fucking rock on my head, Jaskier!”

“Actually, it was a very big piece of the fountain. It's, uh, it's marble. Expensive marble. I hope the King will forgive us for having destroyed it.” then, Jaskier frowns. His hands slide softly towards his hair, burying his fingers into it. “You're bleeding.”

“Ciri has my potions. Fuck.”

For how he likes to stay there being caressed by Jaskier, they have to go. Find Ciri, find Yennefer. Leave this fucking place behind.

He kind of wish to go eating cold spaghetti in Jaskier's apartment.

He tries to get up, but he feels dizzy. His head hurts, and it's still bleeding. “I, I'm going to find Ciri, Geralt. Wait here, alright? Don't bleed out.”

“I literally _can't_ , Jaskier. I'm a Witcher, for fuck's sake.”

“Right. Yes, right.”

“Touching.” Jaskier jolts, when he hears Ferrant's voice behind him, “But did you forget about me, cousin? You killed my mage, congratulation. But now your bodyguard is knocked out.” Geralt growls, and tries again to get up, in vain, “And you can be as lucky as you want, Julian, but you're just a lonely boy grown up in an orphanage, surely you already know that you have no such possibility to win against me.”

Ferrant has a thin sword in his hand, and he's pointing it down at Jaskier with a bored expression. His face is strained by the smoke of the explosion, but he's fine, unfortunately.

“Can you...” Jaskier swallows, and his face crumbles, “Can you at least tell me why?”

“Why? Oh Gods, you are so noisy. Always a problem, from the start. Before you've been born, I was the only male heir of the family, you had only older sisters. And it was fine, it was perfect. The throne would have been mine. But then,  _you_ came.” Ferrant grimaces, and looks at Jaskier with so much disgust, “And took that place from me. The throne was mine, and you took it away from me! So, I hired a mage to kill all your family, not just you. In case your parents had the great idea to fuck again and make another male heir out of it.”

Jaskier's hand get dangerously close to his sword, abandoned next to him. “I never cared about the throne. If you just asked, I would gladly have ceded my place. You didn't have to fucking attempt to murder me all my life!”

“But then, you had to  _survive_ . Of course, the only one who  _shouldn't_ .” Ferrant clicks his tongue against the palate, continuing to talk as if he never heard Jaskier, “The mage tracked you into that orphanage in Oxenfurt. You were there, no one knew who you were. I had a bit of fun, tormenting you. You were harmless, there. You sure couldn't do anything. When I couldn't find you there anymore, I panicked, I must admit. I won't make the same mistake again, now that the witch finally brought you to me. I'll kill you once and for all, and get done with this–”

His sentence ends with a gurgling sound. Geralt's sword, the steel one, passed through him in one, smooth movement, if only with a bit of trembling hand from Jaskier's part. Ferrant sways on his feet, then crumbles on the ground, exhaling his last breath.

“He was a pathetic shit, but I guess the neverending chattering is a family trait. Oh Gods, Gods. I killed him. I killed a man. Whoa.” Jaskier blabs, letting the sword go. “Nice. I think I'm gonna vomit now.”

Instead of vomiting, Jaskier falls on the ground beside him. Above them, the sky is clear, if only a bit smokey after the explosion. Tonight is a starry night. 

“Not gonna vomit anymore?” he asks, without looking at him. He thinks that  _he_ might throw up of he moves. The wound in his head stopped bleeding minutes ago, but still he feels dizzy.

“No. But I need to regain composure. So I just... let my stomach calm itself.”

“Hm. Are you fine?”

He shouldn't be. He's strong, he's brave, but he's human. No humans – hell, no  _one_ – should feel good after hearing those word from the last member of your family. From the assassin of your family. From the man that tormented him since he was a toddler.

“I am.” says Jaskier instead. “But I really don't like here, and I don't want to be King. I'm done with politics and daggers behind the backs. I want my apartment back, I want my life as a musician back, and I want my new child and my new mother and my new husband to stay with me. Am I asking for too much?”

“I don't think so.” Geralt feels himself smiles, “This can be done.”

“Good.” he hears movements from Jaskier, probably he turned to look at him. “Uh, you aren't dying, right? Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“But,” and Jaskier leans to him, his face now hovers above his and he's beautiful even with his face blotched in his cousin's blood. “Maybe it's better if I kiss you now. You know, just in case you're lying to me. So you can die in peace, knowing that  _at least_ I obtained a kiss.”

“All I'm hearing is words, but seeing no actions.”

And Jaskier takes that as a permission to literally  _jump_ on him. He kisses him not softly at all, and wet. He bites his lips and laps inside his mouth. He pushes so hard that his head bumps against the ground and he sees stars behind his closed lids – and not because of the kiss, more because of the hit, but still.

Geralt won't tell Yennefer that this is way better than all the kisses they ever shared.

  
  


Geralt is  _furious_ . This fucking manticore doesn't want to fucking  _die_ .

He's drenched in junk and blood and – after landing one last hit at the monster – now manticore's insides too. It shouldn't have been so damn annoying, but hearing Ciri's whistles and Jaskier hoorays every fucking time Geralt's sword got an hit, distracted him.

Hence, he's furious.

But still, he would never,  _never_ be mad at them, just for some blood stains on his armors. Turning toward Roach, he can see Jaskier's smile and moving lips while saying some stupid thing, seated on the hood of the car, while Ciri is trying to dry the laughing tears from her eyes, while leaning out from the backseats window. 

Geralt's phone rings, and Jaskier takes it from whatever Geralt threw it before heading towards the manticore, and answers the call. “Mommy!”

“I swear to the Gods, Jaskier.” Yennefer is already annoyed on the other side of the phone, Geralt can clearly hear her exasperation from there. “If this is one of your disgusting kink, just stop it. You are making me uncomfortable.”

“You are so mean to me. You're not like his with Ciri! You have a preference between you're children? You're the worst mother ever!”

Ciri bursts out laughing, and Geralt can't stop himself and joins her. 

“Pass me Geralt!” Yennefer snarls. “I swear to Lilit,  _I swear_ , you are going to regret it.”

When Geralt is close enough to him, he immediately feels the sweet scent of love, and the spicy one of arousal coming from Jaskier. “She's bluffing.” he says, passing the cellphone to him. His blue, bright, amused eyes roam on his dirty body, and stop on his face. They shine mischievously at he sight of his dilated, black irises.

He's ridiculous.

Jaskier has won, in the end. He's coming with him and Ciri and sometimes Yennefer throughout the Continent, singing in the pubs and locals, singing songs about the White Wolf. King Belohun couldn't say no to him, after they tell him everything happened with Ferrant and after Jaskier begged to have back the life for so long Ferrant ruined, and he accepted to let him live as he pleased – provided that, when the time comes, he'll be ready to take over the reign as his heir and King–to–be. 

Jaskier hasn't been happy about that, but it's way more than they all expected. King Belohun has a soft spot for his heir, but even than it's not enough to let him abandon the responsibilities of a King.

For now, it's enough. They still have a long way ahead of them.

When the time comes, Geralt guesses that he'll become the very first court Witcher.

“What do you want?” he says to Yennefer, trying to not get too much of disgusting intestines on the phone.

“I know you laughed. You and Cirilla.” her voice is almost gentle. What she means is that the two of them, with Jaskier, have to be prepared, because she's going to make them  _all_ regret it. “I have a job for you.”

“I know you have.”

“You have to help me search this artifact.”

“I know  _I_ have.”

Jaskier laughs, and with tentative fingers he removes something bloody from his face. With a hem of his shirtsleeve, he starts to rub against his cheek and, after considering carefully some alternative, he shrugs and does the same with his mouth, ending up cleaning most of his face. 

Then, he kisses him.

“Oh, please. Do not tell me that you two are kissing now.  _Right now_ , on the phone with me!”

“We're not.” Jaskier says, ending the kiss with a loud  _pop_ and leaning toward the phone. “We're not, if you believe it enough.”

“Disgusting.”

Jaskier takes the phone again from his loose fingers, then he puts it in Ciri's hands. “Talk to her. Now I have a Witcher to ravish.”

“Jaskier!” they hear Yennefer shout, under Ciri's muffled laughs.

Jaskier returns to press his lips against his, moaning out loud – probably just to annoy Yennefer even more. But still, under the jokes, Jaskier hands are softly caressing his neck, uncaring of the blood that caught his hair. He kisses him sweetly – for the ravish they have time later, after all. Geralt touches his cheek, with the lightest of the touch. 

He smells as calming as chamomile and as sweet as love.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! ♥
> 
> say hi to me at my tumblr! [@countessdestael](https://countessdestael.tumblr.com/)  
> [by me a coffee if you'd like!](https://ko-fi.com/nivees)


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